Accio Butterflies
by tearlessNevermore
Summary: Dropped alone in a world of magic that seems strangely familiar, I must take up arms to save the day-or I could just tell Dumbledore and let him deal with it? Yeah, I prefer that idea. A Harry Potter Self-Insert fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Magic made a lot of things easier. Cooking edible food with little experience was one of them. I couldn't just conjure food out of the air, nor could I bewitch myself to be an expert chef, but it made individual steps... easier. Need to boil water? Just a wave of a wand. Need to chop or otherwise prepare ingredients? The right charm would set the knives doing the work for me.

As recipes went, spaghetti bolognese was relatively simple. I'd made it before, I was fairly sure. In spite of my fragile confidence, a half hour of fumbling around in my new kitchen rewarded me with a serviceable bowl of comfort food. Toasting the empty room with a glass of water, I savoured my new home's inaugural dinner.

Simplicity and familiarity aside, my meal choice had a deeper purpose: it wasn't served in Hogwarts. For all the house elves commendable diligence and expertise, my first childhood's staple had not darkened the Great Hall's tables in my seven years of magical schooling. And I didn't want reminders of Hogwarts' simple luxuries—not when I was trying so hard to make it by myself, an experience alien to both my lives.

Cooking was a small thing, but an important one. Magic was a much bigger thing and was just as important to me now. My wand, exactly a foot of alder encasing a dragon's heartstring, had not been out of reach for more than a few minutes since it had first chosen me in Ollivander's shop. It was a part of me, an extension of myself.

A flick of my wand sent the dishes scurrying to the sink. A quick _Tergeo_ scoured what few stains I'd created on the table whilst I ate. The kitchen had been spotless when I'd arrived just a few hours earlier and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as I could.

The quaint kitchen had a cream linoleum floor against walls that had a slightly darker shade of cream. The ceiling was, as it was everywhere in my little flat, polished wooden boards fitted together into a smooth surface. The floor, outside of the kitchen, was made of much the same. To my moderate disappointment, none of the floorboards creaked even the slightest bit.

Dinner over, I started unpacking. Undergarments, t-shirts and other casual Muggle attire were folded and tucked away into a chest of drawers while what few sets of robes I had and my solitary set of formal Muggle attire were hung in my wardrobe.

Moving to the other end of my flat, I couldn't help but grin slightly as I opened a room of bookcases waiting to be filled. With a tap of my wand, the first of the boxes of books I'd brought burst open, the volumes within floating through the air for a moment before marshalling themselves into order and settling on the shelves. Three boxes later, the bookcases weren't even a quarter filled, but the room—to my bibliophilic eyes—was manifold more comfortable. I levitated one of the armchairs that had come with the flat and moved it under the room's lantern so it would catch the light better. Satisfied, I moved on to the next item on my to-do list.

—tN—tN—tN—

The bright red "SOLD!" sign in the front window of Number 14 Whimsik Alley would not have looked out of place on a Muggle property, in spite of the distinctly non-Muggle surroundings. To the left, at Number 12, was a faded black storefront whose dusty display window offered a selection of 'well-loved' telescopes, weighing scales and other borderline-magical paraphernalia. At Number 15, to the right, was a sparkling clean café tended by a bevvy of hovering brushes. The owners, a couple of elderly wizards, had pressed a bag of fresh buns into my hand just a few moments earlier as a house-warming gift.

Number 14 was dark and dull, empty and unused since I'd first spied the property a year ago. It wasn't anything special, a modest shop with an equally modest flat above it and a cramped garden behind it. But it was mine.

Pulling the deed out of my pocket, I wrapped twice on the letter slot, which swung open. I slid the roll of parchment certifying that Poe Stevens—me—as the owner into the slot. The cover dropped closed with a click and hummed for a moment. Then it sprung open again and the deed poked itself out for me to take it, now with the addition of an old-fashioned silvery key in the middle of the folds. A tap of the key to the lock and the door clicked open.

I pocketed the key and deed quickly and pulled the door open with a gesture of my wand. Not crossing the threshold, I cast silently. _Revelio. Homenum Revelio. Specialis Revelio._ Nothing concealed, nobody hiding, no unexpected spells. A flick of my wand sent a series of balls of mist that bounced around inside the shadowy shop. After a few moments in which they'd passed through every space in which someone may be concealing themselves, I allowed myself to enter the shop. My shop.

I shut the door and charmed it locked, such that most Unlocking spells wouldn't work. As an afterthought, I added a Caterwauling charm to the threshold. A few more spells were added to the front window to stop people from looking in, the view through it distorted slightly in the process. And then I was properly alone in my shop.

The entrance was to the right of the front window, itself a series of panes two metres wide intended to display the wares that could be placed on the deep sill inside. The shopfront was about five metres wide from the outside, leaving a comfortable amount of space for my intended range of products given their light nature. The ceiling was barely visible at several times my height above my head, polished wooden boards fitting together almost seamlessly with ten lanterns hanging in two rows to illuminate the shop. Raising my wand once more, I conjured a series of warm, white, flames that drifted through the air to settle in the waiting lanterns, chasing away the shadows.

The shop floor stretched back around ten meters before meeting a once-polished counter that ran the width of the back wall. The space was mostly clear, save for the long display tables stacked against either wall. I could see that once set out, they'd form a few aisles through which customers could wander. Presuming I ever had any. The wall behind the counter was half-covered vertically by shelving.

The only smell in the air was a sharp citrus scent that seemed to be one of the other commonalities between Muggle cleaning products and their magical counterparts. Nothing, not even the slightest of draughts, stirred in the room, like the building was holding its breath to see if I would meet its standards. I wouldn't leave it waiting long.

I crossed from the doorway to the counter, taking my time to take in every shadow, crack and crevasse of the property. Vaulting the counter, I felt my way along the back of the room. Concealed behind the shelves were three different doorways that I could find, none of which were terribly well-hidden. Sliding one of the appropriate sections to one side would reveal a storeroom that was filled only with bare shelves waiting for tenants. The second one I tried led to a small breakroom that connected with the storeroom. The last revealed a flight of stairs leading up to Number 14's associated flat.

Leaving the staircase for the moment, I paced the perimeter of the ground floor—including the rooms at the back—going through a checklist of spells every few steps. Spells for concealment. Spells to uncover concealment. Spells to alert me to intruders. Spells to stop intruders in their tracks. Charms to guard against dark curses, not to mention a few jinxes of my own for anyone or anything who did get inside. Half an hour later, I stood at the bottom of the staircase again and cast another set of misty orbs that bobbed up the steps and around the landing at the top.

There still wasn't anyone there. Thirteen steps later, I was at the top.

The flat was, in the words of Goldilocks, 'just right' in terms of size. Over the shop itself and looking onto the Alley was a comfortable room with a few blue armchairs and walls lined with empty bookcases. I decided immediately that I'd probably spend most of my time relaxing in this room. Also over the shop, but without any windows, was a modestly-equipped kitchen and a long table large enough to sit about eight people. I eyed the waiting stovetop with no small amusement. Neither a Muggle's children's home, nor Britain's finest school of magic, nor two decades of pastlife experiences, had sufficiently prepared me for cooking for myself. I'd figure it out, I was sure.

Directly leading off the landing was three more rooms. One was a heavily-scented bathroom, the others held bedrooms. The sleeping chambers were as yet quite bare, bed linen and decorations not being included with the flat. Either would give me more space to myself than the dorms in Hogwarts. Since both bedrooms were near-identical, down to both having windows overlooking the small garden behind the building, I ended up choosing the one on the left of the landing using a coin toss.

I went through the same routine in each room as I had on the ground floor, charming the flat against invasion as best I could. The spells would have to be renewed every week or so and there were more security measures that I wanted to put in, but it was a start.

I'd taken a leaf out of Hermione's book—the Deathly Hallows, to be exact—and bewitched a pouch with an undetectable extension charm. It never failed to amuse me to pull absurdly proportioned objects out of small containers. My entire trunk—itself larger on the inside than out—along with a few essential pieces of furniture and larger equipment all fit into the pocket of my coat once placed in the pouch. For the moment I withdrew just the last few things I needed to finish moving in.

A dozen sturdy Sneakoscopes, modified with a few charms of my own design, were arranged at regular intervals throughout the shop and flat. I stuck a Secrecy Sensor over each doorway in the building, except for the connecting door between the storeroom and the breakroom. After a moment's consideration, I sealed the door as tight as I could and added the purchase of an additional Sensor to my to-do list.

We weren't at war. Not yet. But, knowing what I knew, every little bit helped.

—tN—tN—tN—

Three hours after I arrived I pulled out the buns my new neighbours had given me. They were little sandwiches of jam and cream, the sponge still warm like they'd been recently taken out of the oven. It felt like an insult to do so, but I checked each bun for poison and kept a bezoar stone at the ready. The bezoar was unnecessary and the buns were delicious.

The dishes and utensils sullied by my cooking efforts washed, dried and stowed themselves without any input from me, an unexpected house-warming gift from Dumbledore that I'd discovered when I'd started going through the cupboards. Considering that he'd helped pay for the property in the first place, it felt almost too generous. I was touched.

Vanishing the few bits of rubbish I'd left behind, I collected my thicker jacket and made my way back out to the landing. The shop level held three rooms and the flat level had five, but the building plans indicated a third room that I intended to make as much use of as possible.

Descending to the shop once more, I had to renew the charmed flames in the lanterns to see. Outside, the sun had long passed the apex of its arc and was falling towards the horizon and leaving the shadows in my shop longer. Not that it mattered where I was going.

The shelf concealing the staircase slid closed easily. Taking my wand firmly in hand, I tapped the shelving and swiped my wand in the opposite direction to how the shelf had opened before. Nonetheless, the shelf slid to one side, revealing another staircase—this one leading down.

 _Revelio. Homenum Revelio. Specialis Revelio_. And another set of misty spheres. The basement was layered in spells for containment and privacy—understandable, given its intended function—but there wasn't anything harmful lying in wait for me.

Thirteen steps down and through a heavy door that required me to produce the key once again and I was in... a completely dark room. _Lumos_.

A number of worn—but serviceable—workbenches stood beside six separate cauldron emplacements, the walls lined by secure cabinets and empty bookcases.

This was a workshop intended primarily for brewing and experimenting with potions, but outfitted for general experimentation and tinkering. When I'd told Dumbledore the real reason Number 14 had caught my interest, he'd smiled and told me he'd make enquiries on my behalf. As I'd suspected, the previous owner—an entrepreneur who'd gone through phases of selling potions, general magical equipment, refurbished old magical items and an ill-fated attempt at home-made broomsticks (which had gotten them fined harshly enough to drive them out of business)—had set the private and secure basement up to cater to their curiosity. I didn't have the same ambitions as they and would have to make some changes, but the facilities were more than adequate for me to get started on some projects.

Experimentation could wait, however. The room was already pretty well-secured against spying or against potential explosions from within, but I had... Higher standards when it came to securing against intruders.

I dragged myself back up the stairs several hours later, tired from the exhaustive—I hoped—list of charms I'd placed on my new workshop. I nearly fell back down the steps after fumbling with opening the stair to my flat and re-opening access to the workshop. After correcting myself and making my way into my flat, I procured a bottle of milk and some chocolate from my bag and went about making my favourite nightcap. The milk heated quickly on the stove's conjured flames. I dropped the squares of chocolate in one at a time, keeping an eye on the self-stirring spoon to make sure it melted smoothly. Once the milk was chocolatified to my liking I poured it into a mug and relaxed while the utensils cleaned themselves.

My plan to scrub my teeth and retire to bed immediately after finishing my drink was abruptly disrupted by the lack of linens on which to sleep. Sighing, I opened my bag, summoned a set of bed covers and arranged them on my bed, wondering how I'd neglected them in my endless lists and plans. Pulling out a set of nightclothes, I changed and climbed into bed. My glasses were set carefully on my bedside locker beside my wand and I settled down to sleep. _Nox_.

I wasn't in the safety of Hogwarts or the familiar anonymity of the Children's Home. Even though I owned it and had spent most of the day moving in, Number 14 didn't feel as comfortable or as safe. But it felt like it could be. That thought running around in my head, I gradually drifted off to sleep.

—tN—tN—tN—

Whimsik Alley was—in spite of the name—entirely unconnected to Diagon Alley. Diagon was, in many ways, a centre of commerce in Wizarding Britain. There were a few other places were magical entrepreneurs gathered and flocked their wares, but Diagon was centred around Gringott's Bank and so money flowed more freely than any other commercial venue could hope to match.

Whimsik Alley was still in London but was situated across the Thames from Diagon. Where many magical families built themselves various eccentric homes around the British countryside, from manors to hovels, a determined few made a place for their own in the heart of the Muggle metropolis. As far as I could gather, a group of five different wizarding families had banded together and set about to obtain total ownership of a street. Through force, finance or—most likely—a mix of both, they'd taken legal ownership of every property along the street that came to be called Whimsik Alley. That done, they'd carefully made the neighbourhood Unplottable, scrubbing it from any mundane maps and rendering it completely invisible and undetectable to Muggles.

While every unit in Diagon Alley boasted a business seeking to make their mark on the minds—and pockets—of all that passed, Whimsik Alley was an even mix between terraced houses and small businesses catering to locals. Businesses established with loftier goals and profits in mind—such as my predecessor in Number 14—tended to find themselves without a market and facing bankruptcy.

I'd fallen in love with the place as soon as I'd first set foot on its worn cobbles. It wasn't thronging with people bustling from shop to shop, but instead merely occupied by people strolling from place to place in families, couple or by themselves. Children played with magical chalk drawing in the middle of the street while an old warlock read the Daily Prophet outside a café. It was alive and welcoming without making me feel like I was being watched or pressured.

Exiting Number 14, an empty porridge bowl scrubbing itself clean behind me, I didn't regret my choice at all. Dumbledore had offered to find me a place to stay in Hogsmeade, so I would be able to take shelter at Hogwarts in case of trouble. I'd considered it, truly. But I'd been yearning for a measure of independence, with all it's costs and benefits, for two lifetimes already. I needed a place of my own, outside of the umbrella cast by Hogwarts.

As it happens, the Headmaster had made an arrangement with his brother Aberforth so that I would always be able to stay a night in the Hog's Head, but that was for emergency cases when entering Hogwarts immediately was impossible or inadvisable.

The old wizards that had gifted me buns the day before hailed me as I looked around Whimsik and invited me to join them for a morning tea.

Steaming mug in hand, I listened as they introduced themselves as Frank and Henry and explained that they'd been living in Whimsik Alley for over forty years, ever since they'd first came to London looking to open a café together.

"What brings you to Whimsik, Poe?" Frank eventually asked me. Frank was a wizened old wizard, dark skin furrowed and wrinkled with age. One brown eye still twinkled brightly at me while the other was milky white and stared into nothing. There wasn't a hair on his head, but his dark green robes were immaculately clean. "Most young folks just out of Hogwarts jump on the first Portkey outta here and don't come back until their gold runs out."

"I think I'd like to travel someday," I said, relaxing slightly. It was a question I'd already had to answer to various curious witches and wizards in the past few weeks. "There are so many interesting places, so many new things to learn. Like you said though, it comes down to gold and I don't have much of it. A friend lent me some gold so I could get a place of my own to set up shop and get started—" A technical truth. I did consider Professor Dumbledore a friend, in spite of our somewhat unorthodox relationship. And I fully intended to pay back every galleon he'd spent on Number 14, whether he expected me to or not. "—so I figure I'll see how it goes like this for a few years before looking into travelling."

"Sounds like you have a good head on your shoulders, unlike some people." Henry interrupted, jabbing at Frank good-naturedly with one elbow. Henry's skin was as wrinkled as his partner's, though with the additional feature of being dotted with countless freckles. His friendly green-blue eyes were surrounded by laughter lines while his greying hair was short and neat. His robes were covered in coffee stains and patches of flour. "Did you hear what this lunk got into his head the moment he stepped off the Hogwarts Express for the last time? He decided that he'd make an epic voyage around the globe and fund it by duelling anyone who challenged him for a bill. He was almost at the travel agents' door when an ex-boyfriend hexed him silly and landed him in St Mungo's for two weeks."

"It worked out in the end though," Frank insisted.

"That it did, no thanks to you." Henry agreed, smiling softly before switching his gaze back to me. "What trade do you plan to make your fortune on?"

"Games," I said, grinning slightly before launching into an explanation. For all the wonders of magic that I'd seen so far, I'd found a distinct lack of counterparts to Muggle video games or even the older pen and paper tabletop games. To be fair, who wants to imagine they have magical powers when they actually do? And, with the first war against Voldemort still fresh in our minds, many parents probably wanted to keep any thoughts of challenging 'Dark Lords' out of their children's heads.

I thought I had spotted a niche though. Specifically, it was when I started plotting out a battle against a werewolf as a Dungeons and Dragons encounter. With a bit of magic to make the Muggle books, maps and playing pieces into something more friendly to magical youths, I had—I hoped—cracked a more reliable means of getting basic Defence Against the Dark Arts knowledge into people's heads than relying on 15-year-old schoolboys to train them behind their teachers' backs.

"Well, I don't think I knew what one word in four meant, but it sounds exciting." Frank laughed. "Here, I'll tell you what. Drop by here in the morning each day and we'll give you some of whatever's fresh out of the oven, on the house. At least until you've got your feet under you."

"If that feels like too much, make sure you drop by with whatever you're working on every once in a while." Henry cut in, killing my protests before they reached my tongue. "I could follow a bit more of that spiel than this hothead and it sounds like more fun than listening to Weird Sisters tracks on repeat in the evenings."

There wasn't much I could do except agree. If nothing else, I'd get free playtesting from a magical perspective out of it. And more delicious pastries. The cookies Henry had brought out with the tea had been as delicious as the buns the day before.

Making a promise to stop in the next day, I went on my way, checking my shopping list. I had a long day ahead of me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The sheet of paper I was practicing on lifted into the air for a few seconds before shivering and falling down again. It was a definite improvement on my first attempt, about an hour previously. I still wasn't sure what I was doing wrong exactly, but I was getting the hang of gesturing with my wand and speaking the incantation correctly.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

A part of me had wanted to rush ahead and start trying the Levitation Charm first. It was rather iconic in the series, after all. But, when I'd first started sneaking out to the unused shed—the accompanying garden being horribly overgrown—I'd forced myself to start at the beginning of the syllabus outlined in The Standard Book of Spells. Practicing had become much less stressful once I was able to use the Locking Charm on the shed door. I wasn't sure what I'd do once I'd finished my first year of schooling and was officially banned from using magic during the holidays. I resolved once more to learn as much as I could in what time I did have.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The shed was a moderately spacious building tacked onto the side of what had used to be an orphanage before it was shut down. Now the site was overgrown with weeds and shoulder-deep grass while the shed was cleared of anything remotely valuable, leaving space for me to practice my magic in cinderblock-ensured privacy.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

I'd wondered on occasion about how there was an active children's home and an abandoned orphanage in relatively close proximity—they were just a ten-minute walk apart for a reasonably fit eleven-year-old like myself. As far as I could tell, however, it was a complete coincidence. The orphanage had closed in the fifties while the children's home in which I was accommodated had only opened ten years earlier. It wasn't the first such home I'd stayed in. It wasn't the second or third either, but I couldn't remember the exact number. I did remember that the staff in the previous homes had found reasons to move me, though often it was to my benefit in some way. In retrospect, that may have been a result of accidental magic spooking my carers, but at the time I'd attributed it to them trying to find a school that would suit me.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

In the end, the school that would—hopefully—suit me had found me rather than I it. The day Professor McGonagall had come with my letter and explained to me about magic... I was lucky she wasn't a Legilimens. I'd sat there and tried to look attentive while she told me about magic and Hogwarts and the hidden wizarding world. Inside, I was an inch from panicking.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

I'd always remembered something of my life before I'd been abandoned to the mercies of Britain's childcare institutions—not that I remembered the event itself. Faint memories of living in a house, of riding a bike, of going to school, of taking exams. Four-year-olds don't sit Calculus exams, I'd been told. I had a vivid imagination and must have watched a lot of television, I'd been informed. I'd believed them, even as I matured and my brain became more capable of parsing the inexplicable experiences.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Television, radio, books, overheard conversations, there were lots of sources from which I could have concocted an imaginary life for myself. Hard details, confirmation of the existence of magic, the reality of Hogwarts... that broke that theory like a brick on thin ice.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

McGonagall was evidently accustomed to dealing with overwhelmed and confused Muggle-borns and left me to sort myself and get my thoughts in order before we reached Diagon Alley. That night I cried and damn near screamed into my pillow but until then my mask was immaculate.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

To be fair, there was a fair amount of the mask that was genuine. I really did have many questions about how things worked and what magic was like. Questions that McGonagall was all too happy to answer. I'd been something of a suck-up in school in my first life, almost by accident. Relating to teachers had always been easier than talking to my peers. Regardless, I liked to think that I'd made a good impression on the Transfiguration teacher. I'd even managed to get her to turn into a cat as a demonstration of what her field of specialty was capable of. She'd been quite kind in informing me that becoming an Animagus was a long and dangerous process that I wouldn't be able to even start to attempt for years, but she'd also promised that she'd mentor me through it if I had the aptitude for it.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

Unlike Hermione, I didn't have quite the same degree of interest in the history of the magical world. I fully intended to read up on it, but I could borrow those books from the Hogwarts library when I wanted to. Therefore I invested what little additional money was available to me in procuring some additional spellbooks and a volume that proclaimed to cover the fundamentals of Potions theory that I hoped would let me stay afloat in Snape's class. McGonagall had gifted me a book on Transfiguration that she claimed was beyond my ability to understand until I'd attended some of her classes, but that would give me an idea on some of the more interesting applications of the art. It also pretty much confirmed the 'made a good impression' theory.

"Wingardium Leviosa."

The sheet of paper wobbled into the air, but settled after a moment and sat calmly on nothing. With a bit of focus and gesturing, I made it drift in one direction, then the other, before I lost control and it fell to the ground once more. I wasn't too bothered. I'd improve with practice, now that I understood how it worked.

I checked the Levitation charm off the list I'd made in a notebook and gathered the books I'd brought out with me to practice with. If I didn't get back to the home soon, I'd have to explain why I was late for dinner. As it was I was still technically out without permission but I tended to cause little enough trouble that the carers wouldn't take too much notice if I didn't seem to be around the house.

I'd gained what I considered to be moderate proficiency with the Fire-Making Charm (practiced in a bucket of sand), the Wand-Lighting Charm, the Unlocking Charm and it's Locking counterpart. Given another day's practice, I was confident I would have the Levitation Charm down pat.

Transfiguration was a different beast, no pun intended. In the time it had taken me to learn two different charms, I'd only barely managed to figure out how to turn a matchstick into a needle. I could do it almost every time by now but the next spell in the list—one intended to Switch the features of two objects—was giving me trouble. At least the formulae and theory involved weren't too difficult. Not compared to the Integral Calculus I could remember struggling through in my first life.

—tN—tN—tN—

As a child in the care of the government, my possessions were limited. I owned a few changes of clothes and just about enough underwear to last me between laundry cycles. I had an alarm clock that summoned me from fitful slumber each morning and a battered—but serviceable—camera that lacked film more often than not. Courtesy of my enrolment at Hogwarts, I also possessed a trunk, several robes, a number of magical textbooks and assorted other paraphernalia such as a cauldron and a telescope.

Most important of those was my wand. Ollivander had told me that Alder wood was a somewhat contrary material for wand-making that tended to be attracted to people of diametrically opposed personalities. It could make for a volatile match if not suitable, he'd informed me cheerfully, but would form an unbreakable bond in the hands of its rightful companion.

I rolled the stick—my wand—between my fingers again, feeling its weight. My fingers curled around it, gripping the handle like I'd held it. Ollivander was right, there was something mysterious and wonderful about wandlore. There was something alive about them.

Most children in the home shared rooms, primarily to save on costs and make the most efficient use of space. Nobody had wanted to share with me and eventually they'd given up on trying to make them. I could speculate that it was more uncontrolled and unbidden magic at work—trying to enforce my wish to have a room to myself on the others—but it was more likely to be that I was strange and nobody else wanted anything to do with the weird kid. Whatever the cause, I had a room to myself.

It wasn't a big room. In fact, it was more than a little cramped. The walls were painted a faded pink, the covers on the bed a patchwork of reds and blues. There was a window set above my head on the wall, letting sunlight stream in past the bars outside for a few hours each day to light up the motes of dust. When that happened, I could almost convince myself that I was surrounded by stars. Almost.

I had a small chest of drawers integrated into the bottom of a shallow wardrobe, more than enough space to store everything I owned save for the books.

Novels, maps, dictionaries, encyclopedias... as many different volumes as I could get my hands on were piled on the floor in a system that shifted according to my whims and how bored I was.

One of the advantages of being an orphaned bookworm was that my carers were all too happy to find me new sources of books to read. After all, a child curled up with a book was a child not getting into trouble or making a mess. I'd always had to leave some of my collection behind when moving from one home to another and would have to do so again when leaving for Hogwarts, but my own personal library was my proudest possession, after my newly-obtained wand.

I'd acquired them from libraries clearing out excess copies, from used book sales and from second-hand bookshops. It never failed to amaze me how people tossed and traded such treasures so casually and cheaply. I had much of the works of Asimov, Wells, Doyle, Christie and—to my especial delight—Pratchett. And, naturally, a number of people had separately came up with the idea to gift me with the works of my namesakes, Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Louis Stevenson.

The story went, according to the story I'd gotten from my third or fourth carer—who'd heard it from the carer before him and them from their predecessor in a grand game of Chinese whispers—was that I'd been left without even a name when I'd entered the system. They had to call me something and had taken inspiration from a nearby bookshelf of Gothic novels. The parallels to the fate of a certain shrunken detective had not escaped me.

The Repairing Charm had been the next item on my list after the Levitation Charm and—unlike the others—I had a specific task in mind for it. A consequence of building my collection out of books that others had discarded had left many of them in poor condition. Broken spines, stained pages and torn covers. None of them was outright missing any pages, I'd discarded any that did.

Now they were all... Not in mint condition, but in much better shape than they had been in. Cleaner, neater, stronger.

I also lucked out when I found the instructions for a charm to keep books in good condition in the back of the extra potions book I'd gotten. Mastering the new charm had proven a bit more difficult and had taken me twice as long as the Repairing Charm. But—with just a few days left before I could take the Express to Hogwarts—I figured it out. Pausing now and then to listen for anyone who might open the door and catch me doing magic, I worked through my collection and protected them for when I was away. I didn't know what would happen to my room, but there was a chance that the staff would pack up my books and store them elsewhere. This way, they wouldn't be damaged or sullied in the process.

The books weren't anything special. I'd only been able to get them precisely because nobody else wanted them. But they were important to me. And I wanted to protect what I held dear.

—tN—tN—tN—

The books I was leaving behind were safely stacked and bewitched against harm. My school stuff and changes of clothes were packed in my trunk and ready to go. My wand was tucked into a pocket I'd carefully sown into the sleeve of my favourite jacket, a warm purple fleece.

Everything was ready, except for me.

I wanted to go to Hogwarts. Needed to go there, really. I wanted to learn more about magic and leave the banality I'd suffered through for all my previous life and much of my current one, behind.

But I knew that once I'd left the home, I'd never fit in again. I'd never be able to truly relax there, forbidden from using magic, not after months of not just being allowed, but encouraged and taught to use it.

I was making excuses. I'd never fit in at the home in the first place. Not in this one or any of the previous ones. I'd probably run into the same social issues in Hogwarts too, even if the magic and the Library would almost certainly make up for it. I knew that was a fallacy as well, but it was one I needed.

I picked up my trunk and half-carried, half-dragged it down to the entrance where one of the carers was waiting to take me to the station. She was one of the nicer ones, with the patience and compassion to not be angry at me for dallying.

The drive to King's Cross Station was mostly quiet, broken only by the occasional reassurances that the new school would be lots of fun. I appreciated the effort, even if the speech wouldn't have worked even when I was as young as I looked.

Actually getting onto the platform was a bit trickier, since she insisted on seeing me to the train. I eventually managed to lead her to the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 before distracting her and slipping through while she wasn't looking. It was a bit cruel of me and I'd have to make sure to send a letter—through the normal Muggle methods—to reassure her that nothing had happened to me. But I made it onto the Hogwarts Express in time.

I didn't speak much on the journey. I ended up sharing a carriage with four other students, two of them first years like myself and the other two in second-year. I tuned out the not-so-subtle attempts to psych out the Muggle-born—or at least Muggle-raised—firstie and opened up the book Professor McGonagall had given me. As she'd said, the magic described was far above my level to use, though I was understanding a bit more of the theory behind them with every day. Compared to the nightmare that had been my attempts to decypher poorly-written Calculus notes in university in my previous life, the book was orders of magnitude more comprehensible and interesting.

In spite of my reclusiveness, my carriagemates managed to guilt me out of my book halfway through the journey with the bribe of Chocolate Frogs and other magical goodies. Of the edible variety, that is.

Time passed and I changed into my school robes and retreated into my book once more. The older students' stories seemed to be getting to my fellow first years' nerves and they nearly jumped out of their seats when the train finally came to a halt.

I had my own off-moment just minutes later.

Dismounting the train in Hogsmeade, Hagrid carrying a lantern through the crowd with the ragged refrain of "Firs' year! Firs' years!", the castle in the distance... It drove the point home more thoroughly than Professor McGonagall had managed.

Magic was real. And now it was a part of my life to stay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _I need a place to practice duelling by myself and using defensive spells without anyone being able to find me._

I turned on my heel and walked back in the direction I'd come.

 _I need a place to practice duelling by myself and using defensive spells without anyone being able to find me._

I reached the end of the tapestry of trolls and turned myself around again.

 _I need a place to practice duelling by myself and using defensive spells without anyone being able to find me._

This time, when I turned there was a door waiting for me where once there'd been a blank wall. I'd expected a grand double door covered in designs with an elaborate lock, but instead, it was just an ordinary door, indistinguishable from the hundreds like it in the castle. I glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, opened the door and entered the Room of Requirement.

It had taken me a week to actually find the room. The books and films entirely failed to convey how bewilderingly hard it was to navigate Hogwarts. Landmarks moved, passageways and staircases often lead to completely different destinations and that was before taking into account the sheer size of the castle. A Muggle building on the same scale of Hogwarts would be hard to find your way around. Once magic entered the equation, all bets were off.

In answer to my request, the Room had formed a space roughly the size of one of the Transfiguration classroom. Along the wall to my right was a bookcase filled with what I hoped was a similar selection of tomes to the ones Harry had found. Along the left was a series of targets, including several human-shaped mannequins. Finally, opposite the door was a number of trunks, chests and cupboards that I suspected contained assorted objects that the Room thought I could use.

Closing the door behind me and turning the key I found in the lock, I went over to the far wall first. Most of the books would be as far beyond me as the Transfiguration book that Professor McGonagall had given me, so I was probably better off to see what equipment I had to work with. I had some ideas that I would need some props for and was worried about having to enchant or purchase them myself. Either proposition was rather beyond my abilities as it stood.

The first chest I tried was locked but yielded to a quick "Alohomora".

The lid was immediately thrown up by a dark object rocketing loose from inside. Flinching back, I narrowly avoided being struck by the objects return journey downwards. Instead of falling to the ground, it veered left and began whipping around the room. Now that I had some distance, I could see it was a dark ball of some so—oh. I'd accidentally released a Bludger. What a still-functional Quidditch ball was doing in the Room, I had no idea but I didn't have time to ponder the mystery before the Bludger came for my head again.

Constantly turning to keep the ball in my sights, I moved into the centre of the room, regularly having to jump to one side or the other when the Bludger made another pass. After a few minutes like that without the ball slowing down in the slightest, it finally dawned on me why the Room had produced it for me.

Taking aim carefully, I let loose with one of the more basic spells from the basic Defence manual I'd gotten—and the only one that I was moderately confident with—slashing my wand in what could only be described as the shape of a mountain range.

"Immobulus!"

The spell seemed to work, but the jet of light came nowhere close to hitting the darting ball. Considering that Bludgers were supposed to be hit, that didn't reflect well on my aiming ability.

"Immobulus! Immobulus! Immobulus!"

Each spell missed. My wrist was soon aching and my patience running low. I forced myself to calm down and breathe evenly, then began trying to aim more carefully. A few minutes later, I successfully tagged the Bludger with the spell and it slowed to stop near-instantly. Relieved, I retreated to the back wall of the room and slumped against the chest that the Bludger came from. Curiosity momentarily getting the better of exhaustion, I lifted myself up high enough to see into the chest. It contained at least seven other Bludgers, all straining against their bindings. I tried to picture a time when I would try and practice against eight homicidal autonomous cannonballs at once and came up blank. If that day ever came, it was in the distant future.

After a few minutes of regaining my breath, I decided that I wasn't learning anything by sitting down. Moving to the centre of the room, I pointed my wand at the frozen Bludger and hesitated. Steeling myself, I undid the Charm.

The Bludger flew straight at my head.

—tN—tN—tN—

My classes varied in terms of how interesting they were. Charms and Transfiguration were both interesting enough to keep me engaged for the most part and my self-study had put me put me ahead of most of my classmates. McGonagall had smiled approvingly when I'd managed the needle Transfiguration on my first attempt and asked me—after class—how I was finding the book.

When I'd said it was interesting but a bit too abstract for my current level of understanding, she'd told me that was to be expected and that I could talk to her if there was anything, in particular, I wanted to know. I was probably going to get a reputation as a teacher's pet before long.

Professor Flitwick had been delighted with my ability to perform the first few spells on the course, but otherwise hadn't approached me like McGonagall had, for which I was quite grateful. Given his usual disposition while teaching, I didn't doubt he'd be accommodating if I asked him for help with any extra-curricular projects.

Potions... Potions class was a different kind of interesting. Good laboratory discipline from near-forgotten Science classes combined with the additional reading and research I'd done combined to keep me from making any dangerous mistakes and left me with 'adequate' results. It was about as good a response from Snape as I could hope for. Remembering his Legillimency mid-class had not been conducive to concentration though and I had to remind myself that Legillimency was complex enough that Snape was unlikely to start prying unless I gave him cause.

Nonetheless, I added the study of Occlumency to my list of extra-curricular study topics.

History of Magic was as dull as advertised and I generally read or got a start on my homework during classtime. Binns didn't notice and I suspected that the books on the same topics in the library would be easier to digest.

Gardening had never been a hobby of mine, but Herbology was interesting enough. Professor Sprout was patient and cheerful enough that I could almost overlook the fact that some of the plants we'd be working with could kill us if we weren't careful. Almost. Again, the advance reading I'd done let me avoid any mishaps, though Sprout took more care in giving instruction than Snape did.

Astronomy was... tiring. Irregular and hard-won sleep haunted me across both of my lifetimes and I resented the additional chunks taken out of it to stare at the stars. The views were nice enough and Sinestra was able to explain the significance of the different constellations and astral phenomena quite well but I lacked the personal engagement that even History of Magic demanded in me.

My first flying lesson didn't go terribly well. My broom did answer me on my fourth or fifth call and I didn't lose control and crash horribly, but I felt distinctly uncomfortable in the air. No matter how much I assured myself that I had a good grip, that the charms on the broom would help, the feeling of imbalance persisted until my feet rested on solid ground once more. I'd never been a fan of heights anyway.

—tN—tN—tN—

I had yet to receive a satisfactory explanation for why the magical world preferred to write with quills and parchment beyond that it was traditional to do so. After a brief learning curve, I had no issues with it, though I preferred a codex format to scrolls for my non-class-related notes and writings. For the sake of conforming to wizarding tradition, however, I'd decided to scribe my letter to the Headmaster on parchment and have it delivered by one of the school owls.

From the first night, after I'd calmed down enough to think through the revelations properly, I'd planned on taking what information I thought would help to Dumbledore. Whatever faults he may have, I trusted him to be able to deal with Voldemort's Horcruxes efficiently given detailed knowledge of their locations. There were other incidents that I wanted to avert but stopping Voldemort quicker—without paying such a high cost—was a higher priority.

I wanted to tell him other things as well, such as Sirius's innocence and the Dursley's mistreatment of Harry—and if I perhaps exaggerated the effects that may have him to ensure he took action, who could blame me?—but I suspected that they would take longer to resolve, especially if he wanted to keep Pettigrew on the board. Dealing with the Horcruxes was a formidable task by itself. Forearmed with knowledge, I doubted Dumbledore would fall victim to the ring's curse as he had in the Half Blood Prince. The locket probably wouldn't pose too much of a difficulty to retrieve, particularly once Sirius was freed. The diadem would likely be recovered within a day of my letter's arrival if only to verify its authenticity.

The remaining three would prove more difficult. I had complete confidence in Dumbledore's ability to somehow extricate the cup from Gringotts eventually, but it was an endeavour that would likely take some time. The diary was protected by defences of a more political nature but could be located with relative ease once Lucius put it to use. Indeed, it'd almost deliver itself into Dumbledore's hands.

The issue of Harry was another matter. All I could do on that front was to detail the circumstances on which Harry could theoretically survive the process and hope that the Headmaster's immense knowledge and skill would enable him to replicate the event in some form. It was entirely out of my hands.

One by one I detailed the hiding places of each soul fragment. I described their properties and how they defended themselves. After some consideration I relayed how they could be destroyed, the methods employed in canon. Dumbledore would want some explanation for my knowledge and I doubted he could be easily deceived. Certainly, the default excuse I'd concocted in case the matter arose with another—that I had a peculiar manifestation of a Seer talent—would not fool him for an instant. I had to hope that Dumbledore would either not press the issue once he was certain of my sincerity or else draw the correct conclusion for himself. Not an impossible turn of events.

More hesitantly, I wrote about the true events behind the betrayal of the Potters. I had no doubt that Dumbledore would be most upset at the idea that he'd allowed an innocent man to go to Azkaban. I spared a moment to consider how he'd go about freeing Sirius but resigned myself to suggesting that any release of Harry's godfather be done as quickly and quietly as possible.

I also mentioned the true fates of Barty Crouch Junior and Bertha Jorkins. I wasn't convinced that I had Bertha's surname spelt correctly, but I was equally sure that Dumbledore would deduce who I was referring to. Crouch wasn't quite as important to fixing things, but being aware of his presence on the playing field was important to any kind of strategy to manipulate Voldemort's return to our own benefit.

Once I was sure I'd covered all of the 'backstory', I started telling an abridged account of the series. Voldemort's possession of Quirrel, the attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone—theories about Dumbledore's real intentions behind that particular debacle aside, I suggested a few changes that he may want to consider when the time came—the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, Lockhart's duplicity—itself an actionable crime, if not on the scale of murder—the events that had lead to Voldemort's return and the course the war had taken. In particular, I took care to provide as much detail as I could on what deaths I could remember. The caretaker of the Riddle house, Amelia Bones, Barty Crouch Senior... each death that could be prevented should be. With the exception of Voldemort and certain Death Eaters, of course.

By the time I'd reached the end of my fourth scroll of parchment, I had exhausted every topic that I could think of. I was sure there were more details that would be of use, but I couldn't think of them. It didn't matter too much, probably. I would be at Hogwarts for five full years before the start of canon. That was plenty of time for me to send any other details I recalled to Dumbledore or for him to seek me out and shake loose anything I'd forgotten.

I finished my letter off with a suggestion that Dumbledore take a more active role in getting the Minister on side. I started to detail possible strategies in which Fudge could be manipulated but then I realised that I didn't even know if Fudge was in power yet or who his predecessor was. I settled for suggesting that Dumbledore get someone high up in the Department of Law Enforcement on side, even if it took the reveal about the Horcruxes to do it.

Dumbledore didn't trust himself with power and I wasn't too ashamed to play on that fear and recommend he find someone else to carry the burden. I had no idea if it'd work or if he'd see through my feeble manipulation. Either way, I couldn't see it turning out too badly. Not unless—

I hurriedly noted that the last few items were only my own ideas rather than being a product of any knowledge of the future. Giving Dumbledore what facts I knew was all well and good, but I didn't trust my plans enough to risk him taking them as ironclad advice. I explicitly confirmed that I knew the future in the process, but by that point, I was sure Dumbledore would have figured that much out.

After a few more moments of contemplation, I added my name to the end of the letter, adding in the postscript that I didn't want to draw too much attention.

My letter done, I bound the sheets of parchment into one bundle and checked the time. It was the evening of the first Sunday of term. I thought Dumbledore usually sat with the rest of the staff at breakfast in the mornings and decided to leave my house early to send an owl shortly before he would—hopefully—arrive. A part of me was paranoid that the letter would be lost—or worse; intercepted—if I didn't personally see it being delivered and letting it out of my care for the shortest amount of time seemed the best way to go about it.

I considered putting it off until I'd learned spells that would ensure privacy but dismissed the idea. Anyone intercepting mail bound for the headmaster would be able to break whatever feeble enchantments I might manage to bewitch the letter with. I was just letting my lack of confidence get to me, falling back into my bad habit of procrastinating. Dumbledore needed the information as soon as possible and I'd already delayed enough by not starting the letter until I got to Hogwarts and then leaving it until the end of the weekend to do it. I'd send the letter in the morning.

I turned in early that night, setting my alarm clock to wake me early. My room mates would be annoyed, but I could always fall on the excuse that the piece of Muggle technology was acting up around Hogwarts.

I fell asleep with the letter clenched in my hands.

—tN—tN—tN—

Eating in the Great Hall was an 'Experience' with a capital 'E'.

It was the largest room devoted to the consumption of food I'd seen in the sum total of my life experience. The illusion of being open to the sky only added to the impression of being in a vast space. I considered it a great pity that the ceiling hadn't been featured more in the movies outside of a few choice dramatic moments.

I entered the Great Hall that Monday morning after running all the way from the Owlery, which some genius had placed a considerable distance from the main building. I was sure there was a reason for it, but it didn't change the fact that I'd nearly worn through my shoes and tripped on my robe's hem trying to race an owl across the distance. Logically there was no need for such a rush. The owls did seem to deliver all the post at the same time and Dumbledore may not even have arrived yet. But paranoia and logic didn't get along too well and the former tended to ignore calls from the latter.

And so I arrived, panting and nearly bent over, in the entrance to the Great Hall. The majority of people still hadn't arrived for breakfast yet so I didn't receive much attention. Professor's Flitwick and Sinestra were present however and gave me somewhat odd looks from the staff table. Dumbledore was, in fact, seated in his usual spot but seemed to have neither an unopened letter on his place nor was he troubled as I imagined he surely would be if he had read my message already.

The tables were lined with a wide selection of foods. Many students gravitated towards the plates of bacon and eggs, but I stuck with the more pedestrian options of porridge, occasionally with some toast on the side. I had reasoning for my choices, in the event they were ever challenged, based on the proven nutritional values of porridge and the role played by breakfast in the body's dietary needs. The simple truth was that they were familiar and comforting. And eating in the Great Hall was... Not.

Eating in canteens bothered me. Normal restaurants didn't, even if they technically held more people. They were more private, somehow. Eating in cafeterias and similar places was nerve-wracking. There was the constant feeling of someone looking over my shoulder. Of being crowded by people with little respect for personal space. Of being surrounded by people who were just flat-out unpredictable and prone to flailing and moving when I wasn't expecting. Inviting disaster. They were loud and noisy and smelly.

And, ultimately, they were friendly. People called out to each other all the time. Conversations were struck up over plates and across tables. People tended to leave me alone, books acting as a kind of conversation-repellant but there were always the people that would come up and start asking what my book was about, how I was liking it, had I also read these other ones and so on. I just wanted to be left alone.

That morning I didn't even have the full protection of a book. I was spending too much time craning my neck to watch and see if Dumbledore had gotten my owl yet. I was fairly sure he'd spotted me looking—in any case he seemed to be doing a bit too good a job of not looking at me whenever I glanced at him—but I didn't care about that overly much. He'd know who I was once he got my letter anyway.

Then the owls arrived in a great squawking, flapping, storm of feathers. Most students had entered the Hall by this time and conversations shifted as people turned their attention to whatever the owls had brought them. There were a great number of newspapers and magazines, quite a number of care packages from worried parents and—of course—innumerable amounts of letters.

I only had eyes for one person and that was the old man currently untying a thick scroll from the leg of one of the school owls, a curious expression on his face. I watched, my porridge forgotten, as he unfurled the parchment, waving his fingers over it a few times first—presumably to look for any curses or other surprises it may have harboured—and then examining its contents. Then I wasn't the only one neglecting their breakfast.

I had taken a seat close to the staff table to maximise my ability to observe the headmaster. It was quite a deviation from my usual behaviour which was to seek out a spot close to the doors but a bit away from them so as to best afford me a way out of the Hall without being in the direct path of anything or one coming through them. I doubted that anyone was observing me close enough to take note of the shift in behaviour, especially considering I was so new to the school. It was understandable for a first-year to experiment a bit with sitting in different places, right?

My preparations for surveillance paid off and I was close enough to just about make out Dumbledore's eyes flashing across the parchment, flicking through each sheet in such a short span of time that I could scarcely believe he'd read them at all. He reached the end and pulled out his wand—the Elder Wand—and waved it over the pieces of parchments a few times. Then he read through them again, only marginally slower if he'd slowed at all.

With a sudden motion I couldn't quite follow, he furled the parchment and stowed it away somewhere out of sight. Then he turned his eyes directly on me.

Albus Dumbledore's eyes did not twinkle. There were no tiny lights that danced and sparkled in his corneas. They were focused. Where other people merely looked, Albus Dumbledore saw. His blue gaze did not brook any effort to hide or dissemble. And now it was turned on me, his eyes locked straight onto mine.

I didn't forget to breathe or panic. I just blanked, my every thought leaving my mind as I tried not to panic. I fancied myself as having perhaps stumbled across some primitive form of Occlumency but it was just as likely that Dumbledore wasn't using Legillimency at all. He had never claimed to have any particular skill at it, merely enough to detect the untruths of a deranged house-elf and an unstable teenage boy.

Whatever Dumbledore was looking for in me—be it in my mind or my countenance—he seemed to find it. Or that's the conclusion I drew from the fact that he didn't draw his wand and strike me down where I sat like I imagined he'd do to a clear and present threat amongst his students. He looked thoughtful, perhaps even a tad hopeful. Though that may have been merely my own wistful thinking. Whatever it was, he smiled at me and tapped the side of his nose before returning to his breakfast. A moment later he'd struck up a conversation with Professor Sprout and didn't pay me any attention for the rest of the meal.

A smile and a tap on the side of the nose. If I was interpreting that correctly, Dumbledore was saying 'Thank you and don't worry, this stays between the two of us'. Which was pretty much the best I could have hoped for.

Regardless, my appetite had suffered a direct hit from an Avada Kedavra and I didn't take another bite until lunchtime. I hoped that nobody had noticed my interest in Dumbledore or his letter during breakfast. Even if they had, they'd probably dismiss it as a new student being starstruck and sending expansive fan mail. I doubted that hadn't happened before. Nobody said anything to me about it and the knot in my stomach dissolved as the day went on.

Everything was fine. I'd done what I could and left it in the hands of the most competent person I knew. Dumbledore would take care of everything.

I didn't stop my own preparations and research. If anything, I stepped them up. For good or ill, I'd applied high-grade explosives to the rails of canon. Things were different now and I'd need to be ready for the consequences of that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The Hogwarts library was Heaven itself. I didn't believe in an afterlife, but the Library convinced me that there was a Paradise.

There were no novels among the shelves and few storybooks. Absolutely nothing that I could find in the way of plays or poetry. But once again the world of witchcraft compensated for its shortcomings with pure magic.

Books of charms, curses, potions, hexes, jinxes and countless other wondrous tales. As a first year, most of them were far beyond my ability to even conceive of using but they still fuelled my dreams and aspirations. Unlike in the Muggle world, you could do almost anything with a wand and sufficient determination. Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. There were still ingredients and materials for some of the more intriguing possibilities that required gold and connections to obtain. But for the most part, anything was possible if you could find and master the right spell.

The Animagus transformation was one of the exceptions to that rule. From what I could remember from Pottermore, it required a potion of some sort on top of a spell. I thought there was something about a mandrake, but over a decade of time had sapped my already-faulty memory of any degree of clarity. No matter, I was sure I would be able to find the necessary instructions in time.

For the moment, however, I had to set aside the advanced Transfiguration in preference to more achievable goals. Specifically, I wanted to know about security magic. Security and privacy. Open to my left was a Muggle-made spiral-bound notebook ready to record any spells of interest while to my right was a pile of books that most would have found daunting but I only found intriguing.

Sending the letter to Dumbledore, I had thought of learning spells to try and keep it private. While ultimately not being terribly useful at the time, I could only see advantages in being able to keep things secret. There were a number of spells for hiding writing that I could easily find, but they all had equally-easily-found counter-charms that were specifically noted to be popular among teachers and parents. I took note of them anyway. I had to start somewhere, after all.

Slowly I uncovered one spell after another that had some relation to hiding things or otherwise keeping them out of the hands of others. Anti-theft charms used in many wizarding shops, assorted intruder and proximity alarm spells, various forms of concealment—including one intriguing that worked by sinking one object inside another when it needed to be hidden and would only be released to the correct password. After a while, I expanded my search to include spells for identification and breaking concealment. If there was some magical equivalent to a fingerprint or iris scanner then I wanted to know about it. I knew that Flitwick had somehow taught the Hogwarts front doors to recognise Sirius Black and that the portraits were capable of learning and responding to passwords, but I had no idea how to go about replicating those effects myself.

I had just finished transcribing the description of a spell used in the creation of snitches—specifically the one used to give them flesh memories—when someone picked a book off the top of my pile. I turned to demand it back—my manners were distinctly lacking when it comes to other people messing with my books—and my words choked in my throat. Examining the volume was the amiable figure of Albus Dumbledore.

—tN—tN—tN—

"My apologies for interrupting, but it is uncommon to see such a young student so diligent in studies outside of the set classwork. With the exception of certain troublemakers that is and they tend to have a rather different focus to their reading." Dumbledore replaced the book to the pile and took a seat next to me. My tongue felt too large for my mouth, too slow and heavy to possibly form words. Dumbledore wanted to speak to me. Of course he did. I'd just sent him a very alarming letter and he had no actual reason not to seek me out and get answers himself. Some part of me had been convinced that the initial exchanges of any exchange between the two of us would be of an epistolary nature. "I do hope you don't mind indulging an old man's curiosity for a few minutes?"

Dumbledore had still been speaking and I'd missed a few words whilst I was cursing my own folly. I managed to collect myself enough to nod. It was a sharper motion than I'd intended and I hoped he didn't take it the wrong way. He didn't seem to take any offence, merely waving one hand in the air for a moment.

Peering about curiously, I made out a slight shimmer in the air about us and what few noises persisted even in Madam Pince's realm were oddly muted. I could easily conjecture that Dumbledore had taken steps to ensure we weren't overheard, an assumption he confirmed just moments later.

"On a more genuine note, I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable by approaching you so unexpectedly, Poe. I needed to have a frank conversation with you without drawing any undue attention. Don't worry, none will know a word of what we speak of."

Poe. He called me by my first name rather than my surname. The detail lodged on something in my memory, tugging something free.

He had called Harry by his first name as well, at least in the later books. I couldn't remember the form of address used in the first few.

I didn't have the same connection to Dumbledore, the same justifications for familiarity, as Harry did. But perhaps this was Dumbledore's way of saying that he wanted to? Or maybe I was reading too much into something as minor as an address?

No, I decided, looking back at Dumbledore's even face. It was most likely a token of... Not trust, but the potential for trust. An olive branch, though not exactly since there had been no strife.

I was getting distracted. I forced myself to try and find something to say in response. Anything.

Nothing. My tongue still felt like it'd been hexed into unusability. Fortunately, Dumbledore didn't seem to take offence.

"First of all, thank you kindly for your letter. I'd say that you have no idea how many lives you've saved by coming to me with that information, except that you contacted me precisely because of those lives."

My immediate cynical reaction was that Dumbledore was trying to soften me up with compliments but I quashed that instinct. Trusting Dumbledore blindly was a bad idea, but thinking the worst of him at every turn was just as bad. Maybe even worse.

"Secondly, I'm afraid that I must set a distressing trend in begging for your forgiveness for the third time in this conversation. As marvellous as your intelligence proved, I took the liberty of verifying some of the more easily-checked facts you presented. Until that point, I had a hard time convincing myself of their authenticity."

"I'd expected that. I knew you'd need to check some of it yourself," I said, finally forcing some words out. "May I ask which parts you chose to check?"

"I was able to retrieve the diadem from that most incredible room and confirm its dark nature. I also found proof that a passage existed below the bathroom you indicated though I was unable to gain entry without risking damage to the castle. I'll have to trust that the key you indicated will arrive on schedule." 'The key', I noticed, could refer to either the diary or to Harry. Both of which were capable of opening the Chamber and were set to arrive in Hogwarts on a set date in the future—provided things weren't derailed significantly. "Finally, I paid a visit to Mr Potter's residence. The situation was as you described and I can only hope that there is still time to avert the more dire outcomes you predicted."

I was far from proficient in analysing people's facial expressions, but I thought I could detect a hint of... Something negative. Not quite regret or sadness. 'Horror' was closer, but with a hint of acceptance. Shame.

I let that point slide. The mandatory first station in fixing canon had been addressed and needed no further attention from me. I reached for something else to say.

"What about the— the rest of the items, sir?" I said after a moment of grasping for words.

"Recovering them will likely take some time if I'm to do so without drawing the attention of their creator," Dumbledore answered, which fit with my conclusion. "I've begun making quiet overtures to certain trusted individuals in the Ministry of Magic as well, as you suggested. Securing poor Sirius' release will be difficult—particularly under the current Minister—but I assure you I am working on it. I'm less certain of your suggestion of gaining aid in destroying the... Items from the Ministry, but your reasoning is sound."

Dumbledore sighed. The last admission seemed to have drained him somewhat though I fancied that he was not necessarily displeased by the concept—merely unused to the idea. Then Dumbledore turned his gaze fully on me as he had done after receiving my letter.

"The biggest question that remains for me to answer is what it is that you want out of this."

It wasn't so much a question as a polite-but-firm request for information. Information that I couldn't give him. After a moment of spluttering and stammering and trying to speak, I managed to marshal together a coherent sentence.

"There isn't anything that I want, sir. I just want to be left alone for the most part. I want to learn stuff, get a place of my own, maybe see the world. I don't want anything more out of this."

"Then why contact me?" Dumbledore asked, gentle and curious. Not outright incredulous.

"Because... I had to. I couldn't _not_ tell. I couldn't _not_ do anything. You said it yourself, what I know could save lots of people. Maybe even the world, I think. I couldn't keep it to myself. I'm not strong enough to do it myself, so I told you. That's it, I swear!" I was almost shouting by the end and reflexively looked around to see if anyone else was staring before I remembered that Dumbledore had used spells to keep our conversation quiet.

The headmaster was quiet, his eyes looking at—but not focused on—me. I fiddled with a quill while I waited for him to say something, my gaze wandering over the Library to avoid staring at him. I itched to draw my wand but resisted the urge. There wasn't anything I could do with it anyway.

"Nothing for yourself, you say?" Dumbledore said.

"Nothing," I echoed.

"That is very selfless of you. If you were to demand some great prize or reward then I would, within reason, do my considerable best to accommodate you. I think you know this—or at least suspect it. But you ask for nothing, wanting to be left alone.

"Very well, I will leave you be now. But know that you have done the world a great favour and I shall not soon forget that. If you should ever change your mind, should ever find that you need anything, then get in contact with me. Owl, Muggle post, however you can." The headmaster stood and dispelled the shimmering barely-there barrier with another wave of his hand. "I'll leave you to your studies once more then, Poe."

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I hope you have a good day."

"I hope so too. And please—" and now his eyes did seem to twinkle, just a bit "—call me Albus."

He left with a swish of his elaborate robes while I gaped for a moment.

It wasn't until I climbed to my room later that I realised that he hadn't asked about the source of my knowledge. Perhaps he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps he had decided that it didn't matter so long as I was trustworthy. Only Dumbledore—I couldn't think of him as Albus, not yet anyway—knew and he hadn't said.

I had the gratitude of Albus Dumbledore. His respect, even. If I had been reading things right.

What that would mean in the long-term I had no idea. In the short-term, it meant that I found a number of expensive-looking guides to basic enchantments lying on my bed when I returned to my room. When I went to stow them in my trunk to peruse another day, when my head wasn't reeling quite as much, I found the interior had been magically extended to contain an entire bookcase.

An entire, filled, bookcase.

Whose contents were very familiar to me.

I hoped that nobody in the children's home had a sudden hankering for my sci-fi collection. Its absence would be a bit hard to explain.

—tN—tN—tN—

Dumbledore was often out of the castle in the weeks that followed our meeting in the Library and our paths didn't cross for quite some time. I honestly wasn't sure if he was normally that busy though I was convinced that I had added to his workload considerably. In the meantime, I was making my own preparations.

The Room of Requirement continued to oblige me with whatever materials I needed to hone my skills. A part of me wondered if I was using the Room for its intended purpose or if Harry—and later Neville—had come closer to its creator's original intent. Or perhaps I was over-thinking it and the Room wasn't made with any goal in mind beyond the obvious.

Random piles of objects of various weights and densities were provided to test my Levitation spells on. Piles of padlocks and broken lockers served as ideal targets for Locking and Unlocking Charms. And there was always another box of Bludgers waiting for me somewhere.

After a few weeks of practice, I'd worked out that each Bludger had a slightly different pattern. Some were faster than others, some moved more erratically. Some would attack me incessantly, others would hang back and try and get me from behind. Regardless, my reflexes and aim had improved by leaps and bounds. Most days I was able to hit a Bludger out of the air in under a minute.

I was proud of myself for that, considering my generally-poor athleticism in my previous life. Then the part of me that drove me to seek the additional practice out in the first place compelled me to start trying to deal with two Bludgers at once.

And that was how I learned that dodging was also an important skill.

I was still making steady progress on learning other spells though each one seemed to be harder than the last. The basic Freezing Charm hadn't been too hard but the other spells listed were... Trickier.

I had decided to ignore spells such as the Rictumsempra outright. As amusing as they were, I couldn't see them being too useful in an actual duel. Having variety was good and all, but if I actually landed a hit on an opponent I wanted it to do something to actually incapacitate them. While sending an opponent into uncontrolled gales of laughter would doubtless be distracting and impair their ability to speak, the same opportunity could have knocked them cold if I'd used a Stunning spell instead.

Stunning spells were probably a bit too advanced for me for the moment though.

The first-year Defence Against the Dark Arts syllabus—presently taught by a venerable but competent witch whose focus occasionally seemed to lapse rather worryingly—included the Knockback Jinx, the Smokescreen Spell, and the Green and Red Sparks spells. I judged myself moderately proficient at creating smokescreens and sparks though I was still working on the Knockback Jinx. Some of the practice dummies the Room had provided me with turned out to be weighted to simulate the effect of hitting an actual person. Thus far I was able to knock down the equivalent of an average adult one time in five. I didn't plan on stopping until I could throw a dummy the full five metres back to the wall.

The Sparks spells had surprised me with their utility. In the novels, they'd only ever been used for signalling but my textbook had revealed that the Green sparks version could reveal the presence of some hidden objects if used properly while the Red sparks could function as miniature fireworks and cause relatively minor burns in a duel.

Given the class's predilection for varying wildly in quality from one year to the next, I felt justified in devoting more time to its study than any other subject. The theory side of the subject was thankfully much easier than I'd expected, my encyclopedic knowledge of stories and folklore concerning many Dark creatures finally proving itself useful. I'd sneaked a peek at the syllabus for the next few years and I didn't predict any particular difficulties there.

Hogwarts' preference for assigning essays as the default form of homework had caught me off-guard. The format was one of my least favourite kinds of assignment, after all. The teachers didn't seem to expect a high level of quality from us in our first year—except for Snape—so I was able to scrape by with reasonable grades for the moment. I'd have to brush up on my skills if I wanted to pass my later years though, a distinctly unappealing prospect.

On the practical side of things... I was top of the class. Not that it meant much given that it was a class of beginners but it didn't change the fact that I had nearly the entire practical course down pat in the first few weeks. Sure I'd started practicing some of the spells before coming to the school and had been putting in a few hours each day in the Room of Requirement—I'd probably need to be more discreet about that in the future—which was probably more effort than most of my classmates were putting in, but it still unnerved me a bit.

I had a near-perfect practical record in Charms and Transfiguration too though the rather more expansive lists of spells on their curricula meant that I wasn't as far ahead as I as in Defence.

It worried me a bit. Dumbledore aside, surely someone would get curious about the Muggle-born first-year who was consistently ahead of their peers in practical magic? The thought had gnawed at me for quite a bit until I remembered that the same could be said for Hermione Granger and she hadn't gotten any particular negative attention during her first year. Not from the teachers anyway.

Leaving that aside, there were some things that would probably grab attention even if I was the noblest pureblood of the generation. The Patronus Charm, for example.

Conjuring a Patronus fell squarely in the realm of 'spells too advanced for Poe to possibly learn by themselves' but I still found myself facing an empty Room of Requirement on the last weekend of September.

The Room wasn't entirely empty. I'd specifically asked it to provide me with a space that would make it easy for me to think of happy memories. It had obliged me by lining the walls with dense tomes, covering the floor with warm wood and somehow producing a low level of background noise that I couldn't quite place. It was immensely relaxing and I made a note to try and get the same setting for when I started trying to meditate.

Focusing hard on the moment I first received my wand, I felt the wood thrum softly in my fingers, saw the tip light up with crackling sparks that leapt along my arm and tickled me, making me laugh. It was a truly magical—in the literal and metaphorical meanings of the word—moment when the world seemed to whisper to me that it was alright, I was safe and accepted. That there was so much wonder out there for me to find.

"Expecto Patronum!"

Absolutely nothing happened.

I tried for over half an hour, trying desperately to recall any happy moments from either of my lives. There weren't many, really. My memory—so sharp when it came to stories, games and curious trivia—was appalling when it came to details of my own life. I could remember having experienced happiness at times, but not the actual experience itself. Like the difference between watching a movie and reading the summary of it on Wikipedia.

Whether it was my own lack of skill or an insufficiently powerful memory, my attempts to cast the Patronus were fruitless. I'd expected as much. It was noted to be an advanced spell, after all. Even with a teacher it had taken Harry quite some time. The DA had an easier time of it if my memory wasn't deceiving me, but that wouldn't be an option until after I graduated. For the moment, I was on my own. Failing, on my own.

It sucked.

I made a mental note to spend an afternoon trying the spell every month until I figured it out or found someone I could trust to teach me it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Severus Snape was not a good teacher.

He was certainly proficient in his field of potions, there was no denying that. But merely being good at something and being able to instruct others in doing so were very different things.

I did wonder—when I had the time to reflect on it—why the man had such a difficulty in passing his considerable knowledge on to his students. I knew that his Occlumency lessons had failed due to an abiding irrational hatred of Harry, but that didn't apply to every student. Harry held his own biases against the man though, and Snape had actually proved to be an effective—if harsh—instructor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, from what little I could recall. Perhaps it was a matter of frustration at being exiled to teaching in the dungeons, denied his post of choice?

For whatever reason, I soon began to lose what little lead I'd managed to gain in Potions. My background reading was keeping me abreast of the theory side of the class, but the practical side was a different story. There was a reason why I'd never pursued any practical crafting subject in school. However hard I tried, I was somewhat clumsy and slow. My movements were careful when I paid attention, but I would never be able to slice and dice my ingredients as swiftly as my fellow students. The stirrer would slip from my fingers and vanish into the depths of my cauldron if I wasn't careful. That and a hundred things threatened to trip me up and earn me Snape's ire and they only became more likely as I hurried and rushed.

The only solution that I could see—as I doubted Snape would accept my 'excuses'—was to seek additional practical work. And to do would likely involve seeking the aid of another student.

"Professor McGonagall, could I speak with you a moment?"

The Transfiguration professor was still my favourite teacher, in a way. She was too professional to show any degree of favouritism in class, but she was always willing to listen to any additional queries I had. As was the case now as I approached her following another interesting Transfiguration lesson.

"Of course, Stevens. Are you still keeping up with your additional reading?" Professor McGonagall smiled, open and welcoming. For all that she had a stern reputation, I'd never found her too intimidating. One of the privileges of being a teacher's pet, I suppose.

"I am, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm on the section covering more advanced applications of Switching spells at the moment and I think I'm understanding it," I said, forcing myself to smile slightly. Expressions didn't always come naturally but I tried to make the effort to emote properly when talking to people. "I actually wanted to ask about whether or not students were allowed to practice outside of class? I'm beginning to run into difficulties in one of my classes and wanted to know if I'd be allowed to do extra work to try and keep up."

"Well, that depends on the subject really." McGonagall frowned, but it seemed more thoughtful than forbidding. "Generally you'd ask the teacher in that subject though and if you've been having any troubles in Transfiguration then you've been keeping them exceptionally well hidden. Moreover, students are not only permitted to hone their Transfiguration skills outside of class, we encourage you to do so. I believe the Charms department has the same policy."

"Well, the class I'm having trouble with is Potions, which is a bit... messier than normal spellwork. And Professor Snape is a bit... intimidating," I said, not quite able to meet Professor McGonagall's eyes. I'd eventually learnt in my first life that I would be better off admitting I was struggling and asking for help than trying to struggle through by myself but I still didn't like doing so. Asking McGonagall as opposed to Snape was the best compromise that I could come up with.

Thankfully, the Professor seemed to understand and was nodding slowly when I dared to glance at her again.

"Yes, Severus can be less than accommodating at times. To answer your question, I believe the typical policy on out-of-class potions brewing is that you must get it signed off on by a teacher and be adequately supervised. If you leave it with me, I'll ask if any of the older students would be willing to tutor you." Professor McGonagall sighed. "To be perfectly honest, you are not the first student that's come to me looking for help with Potions after either being rebuffed by Professor Snape or been too scared to approach him. I've raised the matter with the Headmaster, but he maintains that Severus just needs time."

Starting slightly, Professor McGonagall glanced somewhat guiltily at me.

"But I have complete confidence in my colleague's competence of course and you didn't hear that from me."

"Of course, Professor," I said, swallowing a completely unbidden grin that was entirely inappropriate to the situation. Adults occasionally forgot they were talking to a child when speaking with me. Every now and then there'd be a slip and they'd mention something like Professor McGonagall had. It had happened a few times with my various carers too and may have been one of the reasons why some of them had been glad to see the back of me. Hopefully, I could avoid alienating Professor McGonagall in the same way.

"Thank you, Professor, I'm sorry for the bother," I said, bobbing my head and picking up my bag to leave the room.

"It's no trouble, Stevens," McGonagall said, smiling again. "Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it, as the Headmaster is fond of saying. Don't let me keep you now, I'll let you know when I've found someone willing to tutor you."

—tN—tN—tN—

Professor McGonagall came through a few days later and arranged a ground floor classroom to practice in twice a week and a fifth-year student to supervise. And that was how I met my first non-teacher-or-shopkeeper-named canon character.

"So, McGonagall said you wanted a hand with Potions?" Bill Weasley said, flashing a lazy grin as he set his bag down on a clear table.

The ground floor classrooms—or at least the one I was in—had solid flagstones for floors in place of the polished wood, plush carpet or—and I swear I had to check twice to be sure—shiny linoleum of the upper floors, which was probably why I'd been given one for potions work. I'd arrived a bit ahead of time and set up a cauldron in the middle of the floor—moving a few desks out of the way first—and had been in the middle of setting out my ingredients when the eldest son of the Weasley clan had walked in.

His robes were somewhat worn and ill-fitting but clean and well-cared for, as opposed to his bright red hair which was almost shoulder length and beginning to tangle. There was nothing worn about his smiling, freckled, face though. It was open, friendly and possibly even a touch mischievous.

"Ye—Yeah. Thanks for helping, Mr Weasley," I said, stuttering a bit and probably being overly formal. Bill laughed and waved one hand airily.

"You can drop the 'Mister', I'm not my father. No need to be so stiff."

"Ah, sorry—"

"And no need to apologise, seriously. I'm a student, not a teacher. I'm not even a senior student."

"Aren't you doing your OWLs this year though?" I asked, noting the prefect badge attached to the front of Bill's robes and rapidly trying to place him on the timeline.

"Yep, twelve of them. That's for me to worry about though, not you, so just focus on potions. I've got time to spare, trust me."

Twelve OWLs, time to spare... I resisted the urge to join in with grinning at what Bill probably thought was a private joke. He must have a time-turner like Hermione would get and was evidently having less trouble using it than she had.

Bill had brought some of his OWL textbooks to read through while I worked through most of the potion by myself. He was only there to intervene if something went wrong or if I had a question. I had wondered how that would fly with Health and Safety regulations under Muggle laws but put it aside as one of the things that wizards paid less attention to. Or maybe my diligence in keeping safe in class normally was counting as a mark in my favour. I didn't really need to know, so I didn't ask.

Along with his textbooks, Bill had brought a selection of ingredients requisitioned from the Potions stores, for which I was grateful.

Just before starting the brewing, I pulled out the mechanical stopwatch I'd brought with me from the home. It had been broken when I'd first found it but a quick _Reparo_ had put it back in working order. As an added bonus, the lack of any electronic components meant it was fully usable even in Hogwarts.

I set the stopwatch working and began brewing.

—tN—tN—tN—

"So, if you don't mind me asking, why did you go looking for additional Potions lessons?" Bill asked during my third session with him. "I mean, you have a better grasp on the theory than most first-years and don't tend to make mistakes. Even that incident last week was because there were worms in the seeds I grabbed. Aside from that, you've brewed each potion nearly perfectly, even predicting the effects of making simple variations from the recipe."

"And how long does it take me?" I asked, nodding my head towards my stopwatch, set up in its usual spot next to the cauldron. I'd just finished brewing a Wideye Potion that had passed Bill's brief examination with flying colours and was in the middle of bottling doses of the potion to use later.

"Well, we started a little over an hour and a half ago so... Oh. You'd only barely be able to finish it in a double period of Potions. You wouldn't be able to do it at all if you messed up or got sabotaged at some point. You're a bit slow at brewing then, that's what has you worried?"

I nodded, keeping my eyes on the bottles of potion and working out how to explain myself best.

"It's, it's a bit more than that. I don't move as, as fast as most people. As in, I can run or walk just fine, but when it comes to stuff like writing or brewing... I'm slow. It's hard to explain."

"Have you gone to Madam Pomfrey? You might be ill or cursed or something. I've never heard of anything like that, but I suppose it could happen..."

Bill trailed off as I shook my head furiously.

"No, I know what's wro— I mean, what the cause is. I might actually go and see Madam Pomfrey about it, maybe magic has thought of something Muggles haven't. Anyway, it's... an effect of something called autism. It's pretty misunderstood even among Muggles, though maybe there's a different name for it here?

"Put simply, it's what some Muggle doctors call a developmental disorder. The effects can vary from person to person, but a common one is poor motor skills and coordination. Some things can help, like being more familiar and confident with the required task but sometimes the best you can do is to try and organise things so you have more time to get things done. I'm pretty smart, I think, but my handwriting is awful unless I focus and I write very slowly compared to many of my classmates, though less so here. Quills are a bit slower to write with than ballpoint pens regardless.

"I can keep up in classes at the moment because I study and practice more and make fewer mistakes than most of my classmates. That way, nobody notices that I take a bit longer to get some things done. Potions... Once the potions get more complex, with more components to handle and more finicky timing, I'm going to start struggling to get them finished at all. So I asked Professor McGonagall if I could get some extra practice in. That way, even if I can't learn how to brew potions properly in class, I'll still know how to make them."

I petered off, anxious. I wasn't used to making long explanations out loud. Bill was a good listener and hadn't judged me for my occasional blindspots in our previous sessions together. If I hadn't been pretty comfortable working with him already, I would probably have lied or made an excuse to not talk about it. Being honest felt better, especially since Bill was such a nice guy.

"I see..." Bill said after a moment. "I can't say that I've heard of anything like that before but I think I know of a few other students that were like that. They knew their stuff but always struggled to get things done in class. I'd say to talk to Madam Pomfrey. She might have some sort of cure—" I tried not to flinch. "—or at least know of some sort of accommodations the school might be able to make. Though you might want to take that one to Dumbledore, where Potions is concerned. I have a feeling that Snape mightn't be as understanding."

Actually, given that Snape was Muggle-raised—if not Muggle-born—he might well understand the issue, though possibly not to a sufficient degree of nuance. Given his already-established inability as an educator—not to mention that his background probably wasn't common knowledge—I held my tongue.

"But, more than that, I'm impressed," Bill said, continuing over my thoughts. "By the sounds of things you've got a better handle on what you're doing than most OWL students I know. Most people are worried about exams and tests, but you're thinking ahead to when you might actually have to brew potions and need to be able to brew them properly. Impressive maturity and perspective for a first-year."

I'd had to bite my tongue just a few too many times so far in this conversation. Of course, I was more mature than the average first-year, I was older than any student in the school. Mentally, anyway. I had a sinking feeling that my emotional state was less well-balanced though. Puberty would not be fun.

"So give me a shout if you ever need a hand. I'm a Prefect, I'm here to help. Even with OWLs coming up, I promise I'll make the time to give you whatever extra practice you need. I'll talk to McGonagall too if Snape gives you grief."

Bill Weasley, I decided, was entirely too good a person. I'd almost forgive him the constant time-related puns he kept slipping into the conversation.

—tN—tN—tN—

Madam Pomfrey hadn't been able to help. She knew what I was talking about and was fairly familiar with autism but there wasn't anything she could tell me that I didn't already know.

I thanked her and went about the rest of my Saturday. While I was in the Hospital Wing I'd also gotten confirmation that fixing damaged eyesight was more complicated than I remembered it being in the Muggle world. Perhaps things would change in a few decades but I was stuck wearing glasses in the meantime.

Talking to a medical professional—albeit of the magical variety—had reminded me of something else that had completely slipped my mind. I was out of shape. I wasn't terribly bad, but my natural skinniness was showing. Before, I'd cobbled together a relatively basic routine of workouts to raise my fitness to an acceptable level but in the rush to train myself magically, I'd let them fall by the wayside. I doubted that my physical strength would have much bearing on my magical ability but... It would help with my dexterity and coordination. My reflexes and stamina too. As the saying goes 'A sound soul dwells within a sound mind and a sound body'. I couldn't do much about my mental health unless I could find a therapist who could be trusted not to freak out about the whole 'from another world where all of this is fictional' thing but my body was within my ability to work on.

The Room of Requirement was, once more, everything I could have hoped for. Which was—if I was being honest—sort of the point of a room that becomes whatever you need.

I hadn't had much in mind beyond a soft floor with a few weights. What I got was several complete sets of weights, some pull-up bars, an exercise mat the size of my dorm room, a pitcher of cool water and a wardrobe with some garish-but-serviceable exercise clothing. And—once more—the Room had given me a bookcase, this one containing a number of guides on fitness and wellbeing. I was beginning to suspect that it was learning my preferences... Or maybe I was just overthinking it. Probably that.

Making doubly sure that the door was locked and nobody was going to walk in on my while exercising—or worse, while changing—I shrugged out of my school robes and tugged on the exercise clothing.

Half an hour later I gulped down another glass of water, greedy for the refreshment. My limbs were aching and wobbly, barely supporting me through my attempts at cooldown stretches. Hopefully, I'd avoided injuring them.

Slipping back to my dorm I detoured into the bathroom and showered quickly. None of my roommates was around to ask about my sudden sweatiness, for which I was grateful.

I had a long way to go before I could call myself fit again. But, for the moment, I slept soundly for the first time in years.

—tN—tN—tN—

I had gathered—from various novels—that British secondary schools often prided themselves on a particular sport. Some schools had rugby teams, other had soccer, others had... Other sports that I didn't know the names of.

Hogwarts had Quidditch. Hogwarts only had Quidditch.

Strictly speaking, the class was on flying, but nobody was under any illusions about what the purpose was. Broomsticks were a popular means of transport among wizards and witches, to be sure, but in Hogwarts students learned to fly to try and get on their House teams.

Most of them, anyway. I was a little preoccupied with not falling off my broom. While there was something to be said for the roller-coaster thrill of hurtling through the air, I had never actually been very fond of roller-coasters. My stomach lurched and swooped as the carts had climbed and dived, never letting me be comfortable enough to enjoy the ride.

And broomsticks didn't even have the near-guarantee of safety that amusement park rides had. A student had to be sent to the Hospital Wing with broken bones every other class. Sometimes several students, if there'd been a collision.

I was improving, slowly. Every lesson, I forced myself to fly a little higher, to complete Madam Hooch's drills a little quicker. I at least took some solace in that my form was good if a little stiff. Madam Hooch had greenlit me for some free-flying at the end of each lesson, a privilege only granted to those who had both proved moderate proficiency and avoided messing about in her sight.

Every lesson I urged my broom a little higher than before and stared at the ground until I couldn't bear it any more. It was a curious contradiction in me... I hated the feeling of flight. I was terrified of being too far above the ground, even when I wasn't in any danger of falling. But I still loathed being stuck to the ground.

It wasn't like the feeling of being caught between two uncomfortable situations was new to me. But still, I kept at it, swearing that I'd conquer my fears and discomfort.

If I couldn't ride a stupid broom, how could I hope to survive a fight with a Death Eater?


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"So, not going back to your family for Christmas?" Charlie asked, handing over a mug of hot chocolate.

It turned out that—although they generally moved in different social circles—befriending one Weasley brother meant that you were at least a casual acquaintance of the other. Charlie was in his third year and was already demonstrating a keen interest in dragons. I sincerely hoped that I wouldn't have to be involved in a Norbertesque incident before my Hogwarts years were out. Or ever, preferably. I briefly thought of a certain dragon-loving witch and made a mental note to visit Canada at some point.

"Don't have a family. I was raised in children's homes. They're where muggles put children without anyone to look after them," I explained. "I could have gone back over the Christmas holidays, but Hogwarts is much nicer."

"Don't you have any friends there?" Charlie asked, oblivious to the pointed glare Bill was giving him.

"No, not really."

Bill abandoned any pretence of subtlety and tugged Charlie away and whispered furiously in his ear for a few moments, presumably telling him to stop rubbing in how alone I was. I didn't mind. I was more than used to being by myself. Other people were tiring to be around anyway. Alright in short doses if they were good company but I'd always default to solitude. Somehow, I didn't think that would find favour with the Weasleys though, so I kept it to myself and instead took another sip of hot chocolate.

The past few months had flown past. I'd continued to keep up in my classes, even if only barely doing so in Potions. The essays had begun to get longer, requiring more and more time to be spent inking them out. Transfiguration and Charms had moved onto more complex spells and had nearly caught up with the progress I'd made by myself. Soon I'd be barely keeping pace with the rest of the class, which was not a fun prospect.

I was almost halfway through the advanced Transfiguration textbook Professor McGonagall had given me. Most of the magic in it was still too advanced for me, but I was getting to grips with the theories behind it. The possibilities it offered teased me as they whispered of all the things I could accomplish if only I was a bit better at magic. If my Transfiguration professor had intended to light a fire under me and give me something to work towards, then she'd succeeded.

Even my progress in Transfiguration didn't compare with how I was doing in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Bill had loaned me his notes from his second year after I'd mentioned running out of things to study on the first-year course. At the rate I was going, I suspected I'd be starting the third-year material by the time I returned to Hogwarts next September. Unfortunately, given that the third-year course was focused more on practical methods of dealing with Dark creatures, my progress would likely stall there for a while. Even more regrettably, the current Defence teacher's condition seemed to be deteriorating more with every week that passed. I rather feared that she wouldn't even make it to the end of the year, never mind be able to advise me on my own studies.

When the majority of the student body had fled Hogwarts with the arrival of the winter weather, the Weasley brothers were among those that stayed. Bill cited his upcoming exams as his reason for staying and Charlie claimed to want to keep Bill company. While Bill's reason seemed, well, reasonable, I had my doubts about Charlie's. I rather suspected that the younger brother's reason for staying had at least as much to do with sneaking out to help Hagrid care for his animals as anything else.

Bill had commandeered the classroom we used for extra Potions for the length of the break and had somehow managed to sneak a small stove into it to keep the place warm. At his insistence, I met him there every other day to continue working on Potions. The rest of the time, he taught me a number of nifty spells he'd found that weren't strictly on the Hogwarts curriculum. I'd protested at first, but he brushed me off and claimed that it was good practice for him as well. Then Charlie had started joining us as well and I'd given up on my feeble protests.

It was... Nice. If you were to ask me what my ideal way of spending Christmas break was then 'curled up safe and warm in a Hogwarts with good books, hot chocolate and some friends, learning magic' was pretty high up on my list.

—tN—tN—tN—

Once Bill was finished scolding Charlie they re-joined me and pulled out their own textbooks.

"Any particular subject you'd like to look at today, Poe?" Bill asked, tapping his wand against a table absently.

"Would Defence Against the Dark Arts be okay?" I said, pulling my own Defence notes out of a pocket. "Professor Babic seems to be getting distracted these days and I've heard that Defence teachers can be, err..."

"Yeah, they can be pretty bad alright," Bill said, wincing at some unknown memory. "I've had two half decent ones in my years so far and Professor Babic is one of them. If the trend continues... well, I think we could all do with some extra practice on Defence. Alright, help me clear some space."

A few minutes later, the centre of the bare stone floor had been covered with a layer of cushions that Bill had conjured out of nowhere and the three of us were standing in a triangle with our wands drawn.

"Are you sure that Poe should be joining in with us, Bill?" Charlie asked, frowning. "No offence Poe, but you're only a first-year. We know a lot more spells than you do and—"

"Expelliarmus."

The Disarming Charm hadn't taken very long to learn, to my considerable relief. I wasn't entirely confident in it as this was my first time using it on an actual person as opposed to a posable mannequin but I was sure that I had the general form of the spell down.

My worries were unfounded as Charlie's wand was plucked straight out of his startled grasp and tossed against the classroom ceiling. The Gryffindor Seeker snatched it out of the air with ease as it fell but my point was made. Bill was grinning at his younger brother's expense so I decided to follow up by hitting him with a Full Body Bind.

With a muffled thud, Bill hit the cushioned floor, his expression caught midway between amusement and alarm. Charlie broke down laughing at the sight but still had enough presence of mind to dodge the Knockback Jinx I threw at him.

I exchanged spells with Charlie for a few moments, both of dodging the other's attacks until my feet slipped on one of the cushions and I caught a Tickling Charm to the ribs. I went down, laughing uncontrollably.

"Okay, okay, you made your point," Charlie said, cancelling the spell and undoing the Bind I'd put on Bill. "Your reflexes aren't half bad by the way. Have you considered joining the Quidditch team next year?"

"Absolutely not," I said, shaking my head so hard I made myself dizzy for a moment. "I can barely stay on a broomstick as it is. Flying's alright but I don't think I'll be on the House team anytime soon."

"Pity," Charlie said, shrugging and pulling his still-prone brother back to his feet.

"As I was about to say before Poe hexed me," Bill said, his voice dry. "Poe's already started on the second-year Defence coursework and has a list of other spells they got from the library. I will admit that I didn't expect quite that level of proficiency but I wouldn't have suggested that Poe join in unless I thought the could give as good as they got. Speaking of which, petrificus totalus."

I hit the cushions for the second time in as many minutes, this time unable to move a muscle while the two brothers went at each other with jinxes that seemed more intended for pranks than duelling. I made a mental note to get Bill back while I waited for one of them to release me.

—tN—tN—tN—

One of the downsides of gaining two friends in the run-up to Christmas was that I didn't have much time to get them gifts. I knew that the Weasleys—of all people—would understand the limitations imposed by a lack of budget and means but it still didn't sit right with me. As such, I turned to other possibilities for gifts.

There weren't many students in the Library and Madam Pince was clearly enjoying the peace and quiet. She did not appreciate being bothered by strange requests from nervous first-years. Nonetheless, I found some books and archived magazines with what I was looking for. A bit more searching uncovered some spells that would make the gift a bit more special.

In the privacy of my dorm room—where neither Weasley could intrude—I dug the last things I needed from my trunk: muggle art supplies.

I wasn't good at drawing or colouring in, a fact that I resolved to change in what little free time remained in my schedule. For the moment though, just being able to trace over an image would have to suffice.

Freezing the images I'd gotten out of the library, I carefully traced out the shapes of some dragons, an ornate tomb and the rough shapes of two wizards. After that came the box of watercolours that I couldn't actually remember packing. My painting was distinctly amateurish and I'd resorted to using Tergeo to remove some paint that went outside of the lines on a few occasions. Finally, however, I had two pictures.

One depicted a red-haired wizard atop the back of a rearing Hungarian Horntail, other dragons visible in the background. The other showed a different redhead standing before an imposing Egyptian-style tomb, bags of treasure at his side and dangerous runes scrawled all over the tomb. I'd actually had to double-check but there was no risk of accidentally creating a curse just by drawing magical runes, much to my relief.

The easy part was done. Pulling out my wand and checking the descriptions of the spells I'd found, I began casting.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Merry Christmas, Poe!" Bill laughed and raised a mug of Butterbeer that he'd somehow gotten a hold of. I nursed my own cup and took slow sips. The famed magical beverage that I'd heard so much about was delicious but was a bit too sweet for me to drink too much at once. I couldn't help but smile though.

Bill and Charlie—resplendent in their red and gold knitted jumpers—had collared me on my way to breakfast and dragged me to our usual classroom where they'd arranged their own range of food and drinks. I had my doubts about the nutritional benefits of the assorted pastries and snacks compared to my normal bowl of porridge but I'd gone along with them anyway. In truth, my cheeks were aching from grinning so much. We'd spent the morning using magic to decorate the room whilst drinking Butterbeer and telling jokes. A few brief duels had broken out as well but that'd just added to the fun.

Shortly before dinner though, Charlie glanced at his wristwatch and nudged Bill with his elbow. Bill straightened up a bit and set his Butterbeer to one side.

"So, Poe," he said, "we know you don't have many people back in the muggle place and I've noticed that you don't talk to many people here in Hogwarts either. I don't really know why that is since you've always been a pretty chill person to hang around with. So, since you mightn't have gotten much else this Christmas we thought we'd get you something."

Speech said, Charlie handed me a cylindrical package covered in shiny wrapping paper.

I held it for a few moments, hesitating. Then I set it to one side instead of opening it. Charlie started to protest when I pulled two small rectangular packages out of my own robe and handed them to the brothers.

"I don't have much and wasn't really expecting to have anyone to get gifts for, so I'm sorry if they're not much but—" I cut myself off to avoid rambling and settled for finishing with "Open them all on the count of three?"

The Weasleys had gotten me a quill coloured a deep purple colour. As I lifted it out of its wrapping paper, I felt it twitch slightly in my hand.

"It's self-inking and will take dictation," Bill said, seeing me look at it. "You said before that you had trouble making notes quickly and clearly so we thought that could help. You won't be able to use it in classes or exams, unfortunately, but we figured you'd find it handy. These, however..."

The pictures I'd traced out and sloppily coloured-in now moved and flashed with colour in places. The Horntail now breathed plumes of bright fire on occasion while the tomb's runes glowed and pulsed to an ominous rhythm.

"These are amazing, Poe," Charlie gushed. "Did you make these yourself? I didn't know you could draw. You must have learnt how to make them move just for these presents as well, didn't you?"

"The spells keeping them animated probably won't last long," I managed to get out, my face flushing and turned towards the floor. "They'll just be normal pictures in a few weeks. I didn't know what to get you so I was just trying to figure what I might be able to make. Those were the first thing I thought of, sorry they're not much..."

"No need to apologise, Poe," Bill said, voice soft. "We weren't expecting any gifts at all. The spellwork on these is impressive for a first-year and to think you were listening when we were talking about our dreams..."

We were all quiet for a few moments. They studied each others' pictures while I fiddled with the quill they'd gotten me. I wouldn't have minded if it had been completely inert, I still would have kept and used it until no magic I could conjure would keep it from falling apart.

"Happy Yule, Bill, Charlie," I said eventually. It was a good day.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Messrs Weasley, may I take it that you are responsible for young Poe's absence from the breakfast table this morning?"

Albus Dumbledore hailed us just outside the Entrance Hall. In spite of his stern tone, his beard was twitching as if barely-restraining a smile or laugh.

Charlie was startled and began to stutter an explanation but was talked over by Bill, who was more used to the Headmaster's ways.

"Ah, sorry Professor Dumbledore. We figured we'd keep Poe company today. It's Christmas, after all," Bill said, waving airily to indicate me then the festive decorations that adorned the entire castle. "Speaking of, Merry Christmas, Professor!"

"And a very merry Christmas to you too, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said, no longer hiding his smile. "Ten points to Gryffindor for festive spirit, I think. Now, if you wouldn't mind proceeding to the most excellent Feast, I'd like a quick word with your younger friend."

If Bill was confused about why the headmaster would want to talk to a random first-year, he hid it well and left for the Feast with a somewhat-confused Charlie in tow.

Once the Weasleys were gone I waited for Dumbledore to cast some privacy charms, which he did with a flick of his wand.

"Merry Christmas, Poe," he said, stowing his wand again.

"Merry Yule, Pro— Albus," I replied, remembering his preferred address from me at the last moment.

"I trust you've been well since we last spoke?"

"I've been doing alright. Had to ask Bill for help with Potions but I've been fine otherwise. How about you? Has there been any problems with the— With the list?"

"I have been in good health, thank you for asking. And I have been making some small progress on the 'list' as you call it. I have regrettably had no more success in gaining entry to the Chamber of Secrets and may have to wait until Harry arrives to deal with its resident. The process to have poor Sirius released has been started quietly but is likely to take some time. I have convinced certain trustworthy members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to reopen the case, but they've had to pursue the matter privately to avoid drawing Minister Bagnold's attention. She would likely be rather... unaccommodating in the matter, shall we say.

"I have, however, succeeded in securing the Gaunt ring. I appreciate your warning about the danger it posed, incidentally. Without that foreknowledge, I doubt I would be in quite such good health. Even now the temptation is there, to don it and see if the legends about the Stone are true..."

"To the best of my knowledge, Albus, they are," I said, speaking quickly. "True in their entirety, right down to urging anyone foolish enough to carry the Stone to commit suicide. If the temptation is too great, then please find somewhere to put it where you can not reach it easily. At least until the Horcrux is destroyed. The Stone should still be functional afterwards. Which... Honestly, that raises more than a few questions about the durability of the Stone. If it's apparently even harder to destroy than a Horcrux..."

I met Dumbledore's eyes and we reached a silent agreement to leave the topic there. The origins of the Hallows was a fascinating subject to be re-visited some other day. For the moment, we could not afford the distraction.

"What of the locket and the cup?" I asked, trying to break the awkward silence. Albus took the opportunity gladly, though his news on that front was less happy.

"Grimmauld Place is proving a rather precarious location to explore and I'm inclined to leave that particular item where it is until we have secured Sirius's release. If your information holds true, it will do no harm in the meantime. Hufflepuff's Cup similarly remains beyond my reach for the moment. I have sent discrete inquiries to the goblins of the bank on the matter but they are reticent to engage with me for obvious reasons. I fear that we may have to resort to less-than-legal means to retrieve it. I do hope you'll understand if I prefer to exhaust other options before resorting to thievery?"

"Quite. The Chief Warlock of the Wizenmagot robbing Gringotts would cause outrage and we'd never be able to handle a goblin uprising and a war against Riddle at the same time."

"We are of alike minds then. Onto less serious matters then," Dumbledore said, his serious expression replaced by a smile once more. "How have you been progressing in your extracurricular studies? You seemed to have some particular goals in mind if I haven't misjudged your focus."

"They're coming along slowly. Most of the spells I'd need, such as the Protean Charm, are rather advanced. The Room has supplied me with a good supply of objects to study in the meantime though, which is helping my progress on the theory side of things."

"Good to hear. It really is a most marvellous room. As before, please let me know if there's anything you require."

"I'll do so but I'm getting by alright as I am. Thank you for the books, by the way. They've been a great help."

I felt a twinge of guilt as I remembered that I'd never actually thanked the headmaster for the gift he'd left for me to find after our chat in the Library. I'd considered sending him an owl but decided against it on the grounds that it'd look odd. I hadn't had the chance to speak with him privately since then either and it felt wrong to arrange a meeting just to express gratitude like that.

"Again, I'm glad to hear it." Dumbledore smiled at me again. "I know what it's like to be separated from one's library. I must applaud your taste in literature, incidentally. You have quite a refined and discerning selection of stories."

I was, not for the first time, struck by curiosity over what Dumbledore made of me and my strange knowledge. I didn't feel comfortable asking though, so I let it be.

"Speaking of gifts, I originally called you away from the Weasley brothers to give you something. I hope you don't mind that I waited to deliver it in person. I rather feared that a gift from one such as myself might draw undue attention from your roommates."

"What? I mean, that's fine sir, you didn't have to get me anything. I mean, I didn't get you anything and—"

Dumbled— Abus laughed gently at my stuttering. He waited until my protests had subsided before pulling a wrapped parcel from under his cloak.

It was not—as I'd expected—a book. Instead, it was a silver-handled magnifying glass with minute runes inscribed around the frame.

"This," Dumbledore explained "is a glass of my own design. It will allow you to see through almost any kind of concealment placed under it and reveals anything hidden. I thought you might find it, if not of use, then of interest."

"Tha—thank you, Albus," I said, tripping over myself in spite of my care in enunciating each word properly. "This is marvellous. Amazing, really. Thank you."

Albus may not have expected anything in turn but I made a note to remember to get him something when I could. Even if I had to resort to socks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Travelling by Floo was a novel experience. I had been half-afraid that I'd stutter like Harry had—or would—and come spilling out of a random fireplace somewhere but the journey from the Leaky Cauldron to the Burrow went exactly as planned.

Before Hogwarts had finished for the year and the notes banning the practice of magic over the holidays had been handed out, Bill had asked if I'd like to visit his family for a few days. I dithered over it for a short while but had eventually agreed. The arrangement that Bill had proposed was that I would make my way to the Leaky Cauldron via muggle transport—buses around London weren't that expensive, fortunately—and the Weasleys would meet me there and bring me the rest of the way using the Floo network.

Despite the anxiety that surfaced every time I had to find my own way to anywhere, I made it to the Leaky Cauldron in plenty of time. There, I met Bill, Charlie and an older man that they introduced as their father. Mr Weasley was as enthusiastic to meet someone who'd grown up around Muggles as he'd been in the books and had plied me with questions over a mug of Butterbeer that Bill had ordered before he had a chance to stop him.

It was honestly a bit refeshing—if a tad stressful—to be the one explaining things and answering questions instead of listening to explanations and asking questions. My general knowledge was sufficiently broad that I could field most of Mr Weasley's questions about cars, planes, telephones and the postal service. When Bill started tapping his wristwatch, I promised to tell Mr Weasley about the internet once we got to the Burrow. I was genuinely interested in discussing it with him as I had a few ideas for creating such a network magically that I wanted to get his opinion on.

The Floo had roared in my ears and forced me to screw my eyes shut as it spun around me. When the sound died away and I opened my eyes, I was in the Burrow.

The Weasley kitchen was cluttered and untidy. Books were strewn across the table, clothes hung off pieces of furniture and stacks of dishes stood by the sink. But the whole place was spotlessly clean. The room was warm and messy, it gave a sense of being lived-in and welcoming.

To be truly honest, I hadn't ever expected to set foot in the Burrow. My plan, such as it was, had mainly involved keeping as passive a role as possible until the events of canon had been played out. I planned on fighting if need be but even then I had only ever pictured myself staying with the Order in Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place. My mind had leapt a bit too far ahead, it seemed, and had skimmed over the intervening years in Hogwarts entirely. Living in the moment had never been a talent of mine.

Bill, Charlie and Arthur Weasley stepped out of the fireplace behind me. With four people moving about in the kitchen enough noise was created to draw the attention of Molly Weasley, who arrived in the room with a young girl trailing after her and chattering away.

"Arthur! You said you'd be back almost an hour ago. If it weren't for the clock I'd have started calling out a search party for you," Mrs Weasley said, glaring briefly at her husband before softening and pulling him into a hug. "Really dear, you could at least have Floo'd a message if you'd gotten delayed."

"My apologies, Molly," Mr Weasley said, pulling away a bit sheepishly. "Poe had quite a lot to say about the workings of air-oh-playings and I lost track of time. I'll be more considerate in future."

"No harm done, I wasn't putting dinner on the table for another few hours anyway," Mrs Weasley said, turning towards me with a smile. In spite of myself, I nearly took a step back.

As friendly and generous as Molly Weasley could be, I couldn't forget that she'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange with a Stunning spell so powerful it stopped her heart. A non-verbal Stunning spell at that. Drawing Mrs Weasley's anger—or worse, her hatred—was something to avoid at all costs, just below trying to duel Voldemort one-on-one.

"Poe, dear, it's a pleasure to meet you. Bill and Charlie have told us about you."

"I'm Ginny," the girl—now identified as Ginny, as if I needed the confirmation—"and is it true you hexed Bill and Charlie at once?"

I grinned at that. Midway through the last term, I'd managed to catch Bill with a Tongue-Tying Curse, dodge Charlie's follow-up and hit him with the same spell. While they were both unable to speak, I successfully encased them both in solid ice. Of course, once they thawed they got their revenge by ganging up on me to tie me in ropes and hang me from the ceiling for ten minutes while they got hot drinks. Bill had told me afterwards that it was the second year in a row that he'd wound up frozen solid.

"Thank you for having me, Mrs Weasley," I said, careful not to stutter. "And yes, Ginny, I did manage to get them both at once. Not sure they'll let me pull it off again."

"If you continue to improve like that we'll hand you off to the twins when we get back," Bill said, grinning as he sat on the edge of the table. "Either you'll keep them under control or they'll keep you too busy to keep bothering us. A win-win situation."

"Unless they form an alliance," Charlie added. A moment later, he and Bill had identical expressions of horror on their faces.

I was pretty sure I was grinning like the cat that got the canary. I heard Ginny snickering behind her hands while her parents shook their heads in exasperation.

The Burrow would probably wear on me after a while. With so many extremely-social people around it was inevitable. But, for the moment, it was good to be around friendly people.

—tN—tN—tN—

As a guest in her house, Mrs Weasley was quite insistent on refusing to let me help with the housework, even as I felt obligated to do something to earn my keep during my stay. We reached a compromise whereby I went with Arthur to his sort through his collection of 'muggle artefacts'. I didn't feel like I was contributing much but it gave me another chance to talk with Mr Weasley so I went along with it.

In spite of Mr Weasley's portrayal in the books as an eccentric with little understanding of how the Muggle world worked, I found him to be an intelligent and inquisitive man of considerable passion. In a different world, he would have been a rather benign example of a mad scientist. I'm sure you know the type, they're the ones that do things 'just to see what would happen' and then get worried when the consequences spiral out of their control.

That may be a tad unfair of me, not to mention a bit of a stretch of the metaphor. His canon experiments had rarely gone too badly wrong. Even the Ford Angelia had only gone astray after it had been stolen and pushed to its limits by a pair of inexperienced young wizards.

Therefore, my first few hours on my first full day in the Burrow was spent having a delightful discussion about muggle computers.

"So you're saying that inside those boxes are little blocks called See Pee Yous? And inside those are little cards with thousands of little switches made of metal that it uses to calculate things very fast?" Mr Weasley said, jotting down notes onto a labelled diagram of a basic computer.

"That's roughly it, Mr Weasley. It's more complicated than that and I can't remember the specifics of how or why that works, but that is the gist of it," I said, reaching over to correct 'fatherboard' to 'motherboard'.

"Truly remarkable... And this has to do with the Thinkernet you were talking about yesterday?"

"Yes. You see, one computer by itself can accomplish a lot, but you can accomplish a lot more but putting lots of computers together. If I remember correctly, the internet grew from a muggle military project. The problem they had was that they were storing lots of information on computers that they couldn't risk falling into enemy hands. But they also couldn't risk letting it be destroyed.

"So what they did was, they put computers in several other places and let them talk to each other—"

"Like with a tellyphone?"

"Yes, a lot like that. Except that computers use a code made out of flashes of electricity in order to communicate a lot faster than sound. So by putting several computers together, they could store part of the information on each one. If anyone in any of the sites needed a piece of information that wasn't stored there, the computer on site would ask the computer that did have the information to pass it on. And there were passwords that you needed to have before you could access the information to keep it secure. Does that all make sense?"

"Yes... Yes, I think it does!" Mr Weasley said, beaming at the acquisition of new knowledge. "And you say that you want to make something like this using magic?"

"Sort of. It's looking a lot like it'll take advanced magic for it to work though," I said, adjusting myself to sit more comfortably.

"What was the general idea you had in mind? I must admit that my own knowledge has its limits, but I can probably point you in the right direction."

"Okay, what I had in mind to start with was a set of books. The idea I had was that you could connect the books magically so that any of the books could show you anything written in any of the other books. I read about something called a Protean Charm that looks like it could be useful, but I don't think it'll be enough by itself."

Mr Weasley put aside his notebook for a moment and stroked his chin, apparently deep in thought.

"Yes, I think I can see the sort of thing you're talking about. It definitely seems like it could be useful, but you'd have to be careful. If you used the spell on a book written by somebody else then you could be pulled up on copyright violation if the publishers got wind of it. You may be able to argue that you aren't really copying the book, just making notes of it or viewing it from a distance, but it could be a tough sell."

I frowned at that. I hadn't given too much thought to the legal side of some of my ideas but of course Mr Weasley—as an employee of the Ministry of Magic—would think of problems like that. I actually conceived of the idea as means of passing notes between people, a bit like a pen-and-paper (or quill-and-parchment) version of a discussion forum. But if it could be abused as Mr Weasley said then there could be problems. I made a note of the issue in my own notebook and moved onto the next item I wanted to get Mr Weasley's perspective on.

"Okay, leaving that for the moment, how viable do you think it'd be to create a set of watches that carry peoples' voices to each other over long distances?"

"Like a portable Fellytone?"

"Exactly!"

—tN—tN—tN—

If it had been a bit unnerving to meet with Bill and Charlie, it was downright unsettling to sit around the same dinner table as Ron, Ginny and the twins. Percy was there as well of course but he didn't get quite the same level of attention in the books and films as the others did so talking with him didn't induce quite the same effect.

To be honest, Percy was quite pleasant to talk with. He was the closest to me in age and was eager to talk about going to Hogwarts next year. While he had been a bit disapproving when Bill and Charlie had regaled the table with the tales of our various practice duels he'd eventually come to the conclusion that if it was part of a study session overseen by a prefect then it was probably okay.

"I've heard that Transfiguration is quite difficult, is that true?" he asked in between mouthfuls of food.

"Transfiguration is quite heavy on the theory side of things, there are a lot more formulae and rules to bear in mind than in Charms," I said, explaining as best I could. "It's all consistent though and Professor McGonagall is good at explaining things. I know she has a reputation for being strict but she's pretty reasonable and willing to help you if you're having trouble and ask her for help. I think she'd be more annoyed if you were struggling and didn't ask for help, to be honest."

"I see, I see. What about Potions? Bill and Charlie always complain about Professor Snape, but he can't be that bad, can he?"

"Professor Snape is..." I hesitated, trying to measure my words and not sound too much older than I appeared. "He isn't a very good teacher. He's undoubtedly very skilled in his subject and is quick to recognise where a potion has been brewed wrong and how to avoid repeating the mistake but he... Doesn't seem to like teaching. I've heard that he wants the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, so maybe that's it but he never seems happy in class.

"He's quick to mock and point out the mistakes of students but almost never gives out praise except to his own house. Actually, that's another thing. He tends to be heavily biased in favour of Slytherin and against Gryffindor. If a Slytherin messes around in class they'll be warned at most or ignored. A Gryffindor student will be singled out, mocked, baited, then assigned a detention and docked points. He's very miserly with points too.

"I'm not that sure his teaching method is a very good one either. Practical lessons usually consist of him putting a recipe up on the board and then waiting for someone to make a mistake to point it out to everyone. The theory lessons consist of lectures and random quizzes. Which, like I said before, are quite heavily biased. I've tried asking questions in class before but he just ignored them or docked points or..."

I trailed off when I realised that the entire table was listening to my rant. The awkward silence was broken by an embarrassed cough from Mr Weasley.

"My apologies, Bill, Charlie, I thought you were just exaggerating."

"If only," Charlie said, snorting. "If anything, Poe's underselling it. Snape doesn't like Poe, but he doesn't dislike Poe either."

"Poe doesn't make mistakes and keeps their head down in class outside of those few incidents with the questions," Bill said, taking over. "Students who haven't sought help outside of class or who aren't able to keep themselves as quiet have a much harder time."

"That does sound a bit worrying," Mrs Weasley said, frowning. "But there's plenty more at Hogwarts beyond that one class so there's no need to get into a fuss about it. Now, tell me about what happened to Professor Babic again. She couldn't seriously have picked a fight with a statue, could she?"

Bill took up the story of the senile Defence teacher's last day, leaving the subject of Snape behind. Inside, I was wondering if I'd inadvertently caused a change in the course of events. If the Weasleys hadn't been aware of the extent of Snape's teaching practices before and raised a fuss now... But no, I doubted anything would come of it.

I resolved to try and slip a letter of warning to Dumbledore regardless.

—tN—tN—tN—

Ron Weasley was far from being a Death Eater, but he wasn't a terribly pleasant person to be around either. Admittedly that may have just been me being overly-sensitive, but I wasn't fond of people who only seemed to talk about Quidditch.

Ron liked to talk about the Chudley Cannons, about the games he'd been to, heard about, read about, wanted to watch. I could respect his passion and the depth of his knowledge of his sport, but it made it very difficult for me to spend any time with him without snapping. And I didn't want to do that to the Weasleys, not when they were so kind to me overall.

Also, it had occurred to me after the third time that Ron had struck up a one-sided conversation about Quidditch that there may be more to Ron's apparent obsession than one-dimensionality. I was a young student that had earned the respect of Ron's cool older brothers. Who had managed to beat them both in a duel, apparently. I talked to Mr Weasley about strange muggle things for hours and seemed to enjoy it. I'd done what Bill and Charlie had failed to do and made his parents take the stories about Snape seriously.

I was—in short—a Muggle-born who nonetheless seemed vastly more competent and capable than him. And, just as he'd done when he'd first been confronted with the prospect of a conversation alone with Harry Potter, he defaulted to his area of expertise, to Quidditch. And that was something I could sympathise with.

Unfortunately, it didn't actually make it any easier to keep my temper in check through the umpteenth iteration of how cool the Chudley Cannons were.

—tN—tN—tN—

I was rescued from the conversation by the arrival of the twins.

Mid-sentence, Ron faltered then leapt up from where he sat and backed out of the room, whimpering all the way with his eyes fixed on some spot over my shoulder.

Knowing as I did about Ron's arachnophobia, I could make an educated guess about what I would find behind me, though I drew my wand just to be safe. Sure enough, the wall behind me was adorned by a series of eight-legged shadows that were slowly growing in size. Looking around a bit more, I found one of the twins hiding behind a pile of laundry, a bunch of paper spiders on sticks in one hand and a mirror in the other.

His cover blown and his intended target out of the room, he stowed the items he'd used to torment his younger brother, clambered to his feet and came over to join me on the couch. The other twin slipped in the other side of me while I was looking the other way, nearly earning himself a poke in the eye when I turned suddenly.

"Hey, be careful where you wave that stick around, won't you!" the second twin said, leaning back and waving his hand in front of his face in an overly-dramatic manner.

"You're a polaroid one, aren't you, drawing your wand just to deal with some ickle spiders?" the first twin added, waving a paper spider in front of me to see if I'd react.

I forced myself not to respond by setting it on fire or turning it into an actual spider. I could probably get away with the magic—from a legal perspective, at least—but it would be an overreaction. While I was relieved to be free of the mindless Quidditch prattle, I was still wound up from it and the twins were doing a good job of provoking me. I wasn't too happy with their abuse of their brother's phobia either.

I settled for just saying "Polaroid?" in as deadpan a tone as I could manage.

"You know, like Mad-Eye Moody," the first twin said.

"Means you're scared of nothing and keep blowing stuff up at random," the other one added in a hushed tone, as if delivering bad news.

"Oh, you mean 'paranoid'. I thought you were calling me a camera," I said, counting down slowly from a hundred in my head. By the time I reached the mid-seventies I was feeling a bit less likely to lash out.

"Ah, what an easy mistake to make with someone so flashy and—" The first one broke off and looked expectantly at his twin, who seemed to fumble for words for a moment before continuing.

"Someone as flashy and useful as you?"

"What kind of insult is 'useful'? Couldn't you come up with something better?" the first one said, clearly barely keeping from groaning.

"Hey, you didn't give me any time to think of anything better. Besides, 'flashy'? Isn't that a compliment too?"

The bickering twins were a sharp reminder that Fred and George were not yet the smooth double act that they'd been in canon. I'd make the case that they weren't a smooth anything yet. In spite of myself, I found that I was smiling, my tension disappearing.

"Do you mind introducing yourselves, please? I can't remember which of you is which," I said, interrupting their argument.

Breaking off their spat immediately, they sprouted identical grins—everything about them was identical—and started speaking together again with much more success.

"My apologies, honoured guest—"

"—for forcing you to watch our squabbles. To your right is—"

"—the most handsome Fred Weasley and to your left is—"

"—his smarter twin, George Weasley."

They stopped, clearly proud of themselves for pulling off their little performance properly this time. I thought for a moment, then took a gamble.

"The first one that spoke, the one on my right, is actually George and the second one, standing to my left, is Fred, right?"

Their smiles crumpled, confirming my guess. In spite of myself, I was grinning properly. It wasn't very nice of me to feel good about outsmarting a pair of eight-year-olds but it was better than losing my temper and trying to hex them.

"Here, sit down. You'll be at Hogwarts in a few years, right? I've heard a few stories and learnt a few things that you might find useful."

Bill and Charlie had been right to fear an alliance. I'd have to thank them for the idea somehow.

—tN—tN—tN—

I wasn't entirely convinced that magic hadn't been used to persuade my carers to let me stay with the Weasleys but whatever Mr Weasley had done, it had its limits.

It was just as well, really. At the end of my fifth and last day in the Burrow, I was beginning to feel a bit strained to keep civil. Bill and Charlie were as easy to talk to as ever and Percy had proved to be quite friendly—if a bit eager. The twins were on their way to swearing eternal loyalty to me and even Ron had agreed to keep the Quidditch talk to a minimum after I got the twins to swear off using his fear of spiders against him and let him beat me a few times at chess. I hadn't spoken as much with Ginny except to answer a barrage of questions about duelling and flying lessons at Hogwarts.

Arthur and I had a few other chats during my stay and each of us had acquired a great many pages of notes from each other. We considered it a mutually beneficial association. Molly was busy most of the time amd hadn't said much to me aside from a few discreet inquiries about how I was treated at the home. I thought I defused whatever worries she had but a part of me still worried that I'd return from Hogwarts to find that they'd been visited by an angry witch seeking to rectify whatever deficiencies she found. It was a bit heartwarming that she cared. It was a bit aggravating to have to find polite ways of turning down extra portions at every meal.

After waving goodbye to them all and agreeing to keep in touch—somehow—I stepped after Arthur through the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. Once he was sure I'd come through the Network okay, he wished me the best of luck and Apparated away, presumably to work.

I intended to catch a bus back to the home immediately but Albus Dumbledore had other plans.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Dumbledore was resplendent in a set of summery purple robes with a pattern of entwined vines around the border. He was also looking straight at me with no sign of surprise in spite of the fact that I hadn't been in contact with him since school had broken for the summer. Not that it really came as any great surprise to me that he knew where to find me.

"Poe, I do hope your holiday has been restful so far?" he said, strolling over from where he'd been leaning against the counter as if waiting for Tom's attention.

"Quite well, Professor. And yourself?" I said, making sure to avoid addressing him too personally in public.

"Not restful, I'm afraid but quite fruitful! As a matter of fact, I just found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in the last few days. Just in time to send out the booklists."

"Good to hear. How has Professor Babic been, do you know?" I said, stepping out of the way of the fireplaces to continue the conversation. It didn't escape my notice that this brought us closer to the door that would bring us into Diagon Alley.

"I gather that she has been settling down quite well with regular doses of Calming Draught. In one of her more lucid moments, she sent an apology for the trouble she caused and formally resigned from her post. She'd already been dismissed on health grounds but I'm loathe to deny her one last act of responsibility."

"That's good to hear. She was a good teacher when she was well."

"I gathered as much. Alas, such individuals are becoming harder to find each year. I do have high hopes for your next instructor, however."

"I look forward to their classes then," I said as politely as I could. I omitted the fact that Bill and Charlie had taken me through the second-year Defence syllabus already and helped me get started on the third-year one. "As much as I enjoy talking to you though sir, I believe my carer may be worried if I'm not back on time."

"I don't think that will be a problem," Dumbledore said, one eye flickering for a moment in a shadow of a wink. "If you are in a rush then I won't keep you of course, but I do hope you'll indulge me for a short while. I believe you may find it rather interesting."

I wasn't actually in any rush to return to the home if Dumbledore was sure he could smooth over any trouble. Besides, I was curious to see what he wanted to show me in Diagon Alley.

Five minutes later we were strolling down Diagon Alley with ice-cream cones in our hands—Dumbledore had dealt with my trunk with a wave of his wand before we left the Cauldron. Dumbledore had elected to sample a mix of mint, lemon and banana flavour while I'd indulged in two scoops of chocolate with some vanilla. As delicious as the ice-cream was, it wasn't the object of our trip. Nor was it the shrunken package he'd handed me that he said contained my required textbooks for the year ahead, though I appreciated the convenience of not having to come back for them. Not having to pay for them either was nice, even if Hogwarts would have covered the cost for me.

—tN—tN—tN—

"An owl?" I said, mentally scolding myself for stating the bleeding obvious. There were few other reasons to be standing in front of a display of the birds.

"Yes indeed. You see, while you have the services of our hard-working birds in Hogwarts, you are reliant on the Muggle postal services whilst on break. While that may suffice for most students, in your case I would much rather you have some means of contacting me on short notice."

Dumbledore had a point, as he often did. I also suspected that the only choice I was actually being offered was in which owl would carry my mail, rather than whether or not I would have one. Resigned, I picked out a particularly dark-feathered Short-Eared owl that caught my eye.

On a whim, I named them Kuro and endured Dumbledore's enquiring look silently. While I suspected he understood the word, there was less than zero chance of him placing the reference to a video game that wouldn't be released until decades after his death.

—tN—tN—tN—

I spent most of the rest of my holidays reading through my new textbooks. Whoever the new Defence teacher was, they seemed to be a fan of preparedness if their assigned text—a compendium of scenarios and the tactically appropriate responses to them—was anything to go by. I tried not to get my hopes up too much though.

I also finally got through the entirety of the book Professor McGonagall had given me the year before, though I had a short list of points I wanted to clarify with her first.

But my biggest achievement was when it finally twigged that I could use magic in Diagon Alley.

I'd already read through my textbooks by that point so I spent a few minutes working out the logistics of sneaking away each day to try and get some extra practice in. The conclusion that I came to was that I'd probably be able to squeeze in few hours a week if I could afford the cost of taking the Knight Bus. I'd be restricted to practicing the quieter, less destructive spells since I'd likely have to practice at a table in the Leaky Cauldron to minimise awkward questions. Buying food or drink in order to appease Tom would be an additional drain on my finances, but I came to the conclusion that it was worth it.

—tN—tN—tN—

The Knight Bus had its own unique brand of terror that was similar to—but unlike—the feeling of riding a broomstick. In the main, I would categorise it as being worse than broomstick flight on the grounds that most people who flew broomsticks weren't reliant on the ability of obstacles to avoid getting hit, as the Knight Bus did.

Stan Shunpike was not yet the conductor of course but that didn't bother me too much. Stan had few enough appearances that having to deal with a complete stranger wasn't much worse by comparison, in terms of familiarity.

In a moment of either courage or foolishness, I'd taken a seat near the front of the Bus after getting on. My position on the Bus didn't actually seem to have much bearing on how uncomfortable my journey was but it did let me converse with the conductor, from whom I learnt that the Knight Bus would offer the equivalent of 'season passes' for regular passengers. The price was a bit beyond what I could afford with my limited Muggle savings though. I would have to limit my journeys until I could find some additional source of finance.

Whatever else could be said about the Bus, it was very fast. Its path may be erratic but it got to destinations with unseemly haste. London traffic meant the journey to the Leaky Cauldron would normally have taken upwards of an hour. On the Knight Bus, it was a mere ten stomach-churning minutes.

—tN—tN—tN—

If Tom was surprised to see a Hogwarts student on holidays come in and claim a table by themselves, he didn't show it. In fact, I could have sworn he gave a knowing wink when I pulled out my wand and a spellbook. That reassured me somewhat. If I wasn't the first student to try this and Tom didn't try to warn me off then I was probably in the clear.

The food in the Leaky Cauldron was pleasant enough, if not as nice as the fare at Hogwarts or the Burrow. After a few minutes trying to decipher the menu, I'd ordered some bread and some exploding lemonade rather than risking the various soups named for different combinations of 'Leaky', 'House' and 'Soup'.

Soon enough I was seated at the end of one of the tables, away from any doorways. I had my Charms book open in front of me, mainly because most of the second-year Transfiguration needed animals to practice with. I resolved to try and catch some beetles and mice or rats and bring them with me the next time I came to the Cauldron. Perhaps Kuro could help with obtaining some of the latter.

For the next hour or so, pausing only to take a bit of bread or a sip of lemonade, I worked on the Engorgement and Shrinking charms. By the time I had to leave, I'd managed some small—hah!—success with both but still felt unsatisfied.

—tN—tN—tN—

If I'd had limited social interaction before, I was completely isolated after my first year at Hogwarts. The other children weren't sure what to make of me and—possibly because I so often made myself scarce—avoided me most of the time. The staff were all too willing to leave me to work on my essays and studying for hours on end. With my history of not actively causing trouble and the prospect of having to feed another mouth if I failed out of my fancy boarding school, they sometimes didn't even notice if I didn't turn up for dinner.

And so the rest of my summer break passed in relative peace and quiet. I spent most of my time in the orphanage working on my assigned essays and taking notes for my extra-curricular projects. I slipped away to the Leaky Cauldron several times a week without incident and gradually made progress on my spellwork. The other patrons in the Cauldron rarely reacted except to occasionally chuckle about eager young students or—on one occasion—to offer advice.

Kuro was largely self-sufficient, though she appreciated the occasional pieces of owl-appropriate food I was able to sneak out to her. The staff had complained about hearing a bird hooting a few times before I managed to convince her to keep quiet around the home itself. Aside from that, there were no other problems.

The lack of trouble did worry me slightly. I'd always been a bit of a pessimist when things seemed to be going well, always waiting for another shoe to drop. It didn't help that my ability to hone my self-defence skills was severely limited. Although I kept up regular exercise to stay in shape, I feared my reflexes would suffer after a few months of disuse.

My brewing skills were another deficiency in my summer work. Bill had assured me that he'd be willing to work with me again once we were back in Hogwarts provided his workload didn't become too untenable. I wasn't sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he'd relinquished his Time-Turner after his OWL exams.

My waiting didn't last forever though. The days ticked by and September was upon me once more. It was time to go home again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Albus's gifted glass had lain unused in my pocket for months. While it had proved most effective in breaching the rudimentary Concealment Charms I was capable of, it was far too time-consuming to use the glass on every single book I read.

Mid-October in my second year at Hogwarts an application for the lens finally occurred to me. Hidden—literally—amongst the twisting shelves of the Hogwarts library was the Invisibility Section, a set of books that purportedly dealt in, well, Invisibility. The catch was that the books were themselves invisible and near-impossible to read. Armed with Albus's gift, however, I soon filled many pages with rapidly scribbled notes.

In the canon series, the main forms of invisibility used were Disillusionment charms and—of course—Harry's cloak of invisibility. According to the tomes hidden in the Invisibility Section, these were just a few of a great many ways of hiding objects, people and places from the watchful eyes of others.

The books described in detail a great number of Charms that would conceal things from the eyes, ears, noses and even touch of others. Foremost among them was the Fidelius Charm but the book also acknowledged the unsuitability of the Fidelius Charm in situations where utter secrecy was paramount. Leaving aside the requirement of needing to place your trust in another, it was quite difficult to remove the spell should anything happen to the original Secret Keeper.

More useful was the other volume I found, which dealt in a very different form of magical concealment: Occlumency.

As I had feared, the path to becoming an Occlumens was best walked with the aid of another—more experienced—Occlumens or Legillimens. While Albus almost certainly qualified as such, he was busy with other issues and would have problems if he was seen meeting with a random student for no apparent reason. Looking back, even our meeting in Diagon Alley had been risky enough. My preference was to remain as anonymous and publically-unconnected to any counter-Voldemort efforts as possible.

Even working by myself though, the exercises prescribed by the author were a step up from the course of Muggle meditation I cobbled together before.

With another research topic checked off the list, I could finally feel like I was making progress that year.

—tN—tN—tN—

My second year in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not progressing as well as I'd hoped. I was still keeping up in my practical magic classes of Transfiguration and Charms and Bill was keeping me afloat in Potions, but my other subjects were beginning to suffer.

The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had turned out to be a bushy-browed witch whose qualifications technically lay in the field of magical history rather than defence. While she had a good grasp on the theoretical side of the subject, her insecurity with the actual practice of the subject had proved to be her downfall. Her classes generally consisted of reading, note-taking, and impromptu quizzes. I was glad to be still pursuing my practical Defence work in the Room of Requirement and with the Weasley brothers.

As in Harry's second year, Herbology had taken a turn for the dangerous. This was a development that did not suit me. Hidden surprises of a potentially dangerous nature had made me twitchy and constantly on-edge while working in Greenhouse Three, to the detriment of my ability to focus on the assignments given.

Meanwhile, my motor skills—specifically my unsteady hands—were rendering my Astronomy lessons a course in frustration. At Madam Pomfrey's suggestion Professor Sinestra allowed me more time with my telescope which usually let me get most of my observations complete, but cut into my already-limited sleeping time.

History of Magic... Binns hadn't changed tack at all. I was no more successful at staying focused in his classes than before, but the greater challenge was posed by the steadily-lengthening essays we were assigned regularly.

While Madam Hooch appreciated that I was working on conquering my anxiety regarding heights, the fact remained that I was far from the top of the class and the period was often an exercise in anxiety from start to finish.

I persevered and turned my assignments in on time, even if the ink was occasionally still drying when they landed on the teacher's desk. I behaved myself in class and outside it. I managed to sneak away to the Room of Requirement on most days to continue to hone my spellwork. I met with the Weasley brothers—Percy had now joined us to make a quartet—three to four days a week and they helped to keep both my grades and my spirits high.

But inside I was beginning to despair. Even six months earlier I would have laughed at anyone who told me I would tire of learning magic. Now... now I felt trapped. Like I was just going through the motions. I could see the signs already. The later and later assignments. The increasing time consumed by once-simple tasks. Previously enjoyable social engagements were becoming a chore.

Sooner or later, something was going to crack. And not only had I found no solution to the problem in my first life, but I doubted magic would have any answers. I was on my own.

Or perhaps not.

Digging out the Concealment Charms I learned from the Invisibility Section, I composed and charmed a second letter to Dumbledore and dispatched Kuro.

All I could do was wait.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Alohomora!"

Released from their trunk by my spell, no less than four different Bludgers shot into the air, more than I'd ever tried to deal with at once in the past. By the end of my first year, I was consistently able to subdue three Bludgers in under two minutes without sustaining visible injuries. It had taken me a month to work back up to that level after returning, but I finally felt ready to step up my training.

Two of the Bludgers went high above my head and out of my sight. Another zipped away to my right. The last one barreled straight towards me.

"Impedimenta!" I spat, slashing my wand towards the oncoming ball before jumping to the right. The Bludger I fired at swerved to avoid my spell while two others whipped through where I'd been standing a moment before, one at head height and the other at stomach level. Twisting quickly, I caught movement in the corner of my eye and ducked under the final Bludger a second before it would have collided.

"Immobilius!"

This time my aim was true, letting me score my first hit and caused the Bludger I just dodged to fall out of the air. Its siblings, however, were intent on not giving me any time to celebrate. One barely missed taking my leg out from under me while a second was deflected by a wobbly Shield charm at the last moment. The third continued to circle instead of pressing the attack.

I had begun to get the impression that being stored together constantly had lead to the Bludgers to develop some kind of pack hunting instinct. It certainly seemed like they were getting more and more tactical in how they attacked me. One of them always seemed to come at me from a blind spot while I was focused on another one. Moreover, after I downed the first one, the remaining three began to swerve away immediately after I dodged or deflected them, preventing me from landing another spell in the same way.

I was not without some tricks of my own though.

"Ventus!" I said, focusing the spell into a wide cone of wind emanating from the tip of my wand. Two of the Bludgers were caught in the gust and were pushed away from me towards the wall. I wasn't yet strong enough to blow them away completely—I suspected that I wouldn't even have as much success as I did if the Bludgers weren't already worn down from years of battling winds and Beater's bats—but it was enough to give me some space to react.

It also left me open to attacks from behind while I was focusing in front of me. Hoping I'd timed it right, I dropped the Wind Charm—the Bludgers caught in it immediately shot off at odd angles and bounced off the walls, caught off-guard at the sudden lack of resistance—and spun around to fire my wand behind me.

"Glacius!"

The crackling stream that left my wand made a thin wall of ice sprout from the ground. Flicking my wand upwards, I made the ice surge up just in time for the other Budger to crash into it. I jumped to the side to avoid the splintered chips of ice and fired off another "Immobilius" at the Bludger. Slowed and confused by the impact of an unexpected obstacle, it was unable to dodge and I claimed my second victim.

The wall of ice I conjured was quite fragile already and shattered completely as a Bludger cannoned through it. A "Protego" sprang from my lips and protected me from the flying shards of ice. My mastery of the Shield Charm was still incomplete, however. Among other deficiencies, I could only defend in one direction at once and by blocking the falling ice, I left myself open to another attack from behind.

I dropped to my knees, arms held over my head, and pulled off a clumsy attempt at a forward roll. It was awkward in the robes I made myself practice in, but I was vindicated by the whoosh of another Bludger hurtling over me. I clambered back to my feet as quickly as I could, immediately having to jump to the side to dodge another attack.

The remaining two Bludgers had decided on the strategy—and I really was sure that they were learning now—of not giving me a moment to breathe or attempt to set up another trick like I had with the ice wall. Abandoning the strikes from my blind spot—rendered ineffective without a third Bludger anyway—they came at me with furious intensity from one direction after the other.

I was able to keep them in view almost constantly and didn't have too much trouble dodging, but I was quickly running short on breath. As fast as they were moving, it would be hard to pick off one of them unless they were going straight towards or away from me and with the timing they had I was too busy recovering from the previous pass or reacting to the next one to take advantage of the opportunity. I was beginning to think that I'd have to take a hit to take out one of them and then pick off the remaining one once it no longer had backup when a better idea occurred.

Still jumping about to avoid the Bludgers, I fired one "Glacius!" after another straight up at the ceiling. I couldn't afford to look up to see what kind of progress I was making, but I kept at it until I estimated I'd created a reasonable density of ice. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to cast twice in quick succession.

"Incendio!"

I put as much effort into the Fire-making spell as I could. Generally, casting the same spell wouldn't always produce the exact same result and it'd taken me a while to conclude that the result depended on what the caster was trying to achieve. The idea of 'putting energy' into a spell was just a handy metaphor for trying to produce a bigger-than-usual effect. In this case, I was trying for something a bit bigger than a few sparks to light a candle. Instead, I conjured a flash of fire roughly the size of a baseball from my wandtip and sent it rocketing skywards.

Spinning my wand around again as fast as I could, I cast the most complete "Protego!" that I could. My efforts generated a thin half-dome around me just as my fire spell hit the ice.

I was just a second-year, so there were limits to how much my spells could accomplish. Nonetheless, I was pretty proud of the combined cracking and hissing that heralded a slew of water and chunks of melting ice plummeting down around me. It sloughed off my Shield for a moment before the next Bludger crashed off it and I was drenched, but its work was done.

The sudden change in weather had distracted the Bludgers and caused them to abort their next attack run. This gave me just enough time to take aim and tag them both in quick succession.

Robes dripping, I checked my watch and found that it had taken me a little over six minutes to take care of the four Bludgers. Definite room for improvement. I decided to pack up for the evening and get to work on my next round of assignments.

Although I was able to adequately dry both myself and my robes, it was still a less than ideal state in which to unexpectedly meet the Headmaster.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Poe."

"Albus."

The headmaster's name slipped out before I had a chance to double-check that we were alone in the corridor. We were, as far as I could see, but I chided myself for my carelessness regardless. It wouldn't do for another student or teacher to see me addressing the headmaster so casually.

Today Dumbledore wore plum coloured robes that reminded me of the suit he wore to meet Tom Riddle for the first time. His face was creased in unmistakable worry, his eyes fixed on me from behind his half-moon glasses. His stance was not one of a person expecting trouble, not that there would have been much I could do about the situation even if he was.

"How did you know where to find me?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could think about it.

"After ascertaining that you were not present either in the library nor your House, nor were you in meeting with any of your teachers or Messrs Weasley, I came to the conclusion that you had found somewhere else to hide yourself away. Given your knowledge of this Room and predilection for privacy, it seemed likely that you would appropriate a suitable space here. When I was unable to locate or summon the entrance until your exit just a moment ago, I considered the mystery solved and awaited your return. May I ask what you were using the Room for?"

"Practice," I said, stepping back into the Room and holding the door open for the headmaster to follow, which he did.

Albus had delivered his explanation in his usual level voice, but he lacked the usual note of airiness that indicated his good humour. Its absence was worrying, far moreso than Albus's ability to track me down even within my sanctuary.

"I was working on speed and accuracy with combat spells," I explained, gesturing towards the targets along the wall with one hand whilst shutting and locking the door with my other. "After about twenty minutes on that, I started practicing against moving targets."

"Moving targets?" Albus asked, one brow quirked.

"Bludgers." I nodded towards the locked chests.

"And you were successful?"

"Eventually. They're small and fast targets and I swear they're learning. I tried four at once today for the first time and had to think outside the box to get them all."

I gave Dumbledore a brief description of the 'battle' with gestures towards the still-visible pieces of melting ice on the floor and ceiling.

"Your creativity does you credit," Albus praised me, smiling faintly. "Your reactions were well-considered under the circumstances. The ability to think tactically under fire will serve you well, should you ever enter the duelling circuit."

The "or if we go to war" went unspoken.

We both fell silent for a few moments and I watched the icicles dissolve into puddles. Eventually, I had to ask.

"Did you get my letter?"

"Indeed I did, Poe. I must say that I am both curious and worried. While I did say that you could and should approach me with any problems you may have, I found it surprising that you should find yourself vexed by schoolwork considering that, ah..."

"Considering that I helped mastermind a plan to defeat an immortal sorcerer bent on world domination?" I hadn't intended for the sarcasm, but it made its way into the sentence anyway. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Aptly put. Indeed, yes. I do understand that aptitude in solving one kind of problem does not necessitate equal ability in resolving problems of a different nature, particularly when the latter variety is so close to you. Regrettably, I find myself somewhat out of my depth."

My heart sank. To hear Dumbledore, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, admit that something was beyond him was deeply disturbing.

"My apologies, Poe. I feel I have failed as an educator, particularly if—as I suspect—you are not the first to meet problems of this type and been let down by our school. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who seek it, but I fear too many have been left to find their own way."

I dropped to the floor and rested my chin on my knees, eyes closed. I heard the swish of robes to my left followed by a muffled thump that suggested that Albus had followed my example. I spent a few minutes trying to find the right words, then to get them in order. It seemed silly that, after keeping silent on the matter through talk of Horcruxes and grand strategy that this was what loosened my tongue. But then again, hadn't Dumbledore just said it? Sometimes it was the problems close to us that were the hardest to overcome, even if they were technically smaller in scale.

"I'm from another world."

My declaration met only silence, inviting me to speak further.

"Another world, another time. It's a lot like this one, but without magic. But what it did have was a series of novels chronicling the school years of a boy called Harry Potter. I say 'novels', but there were movies and games and websites and oh so much fanfiction. Harry is a hundred times more famous there than he is here.

"I read those stories while I was growing up. My parents read them to me at night at first. Then I started reading them by myself, one after the next. The Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, the Prisoner of Azkaban, the Goblet of Fire, the Order of the Phoenix, the Half-Blood Prince and the Deathly Hallows. I read and reread them cover-to-cover. Knew the minutest detail off by heart. That's where it all came from, the stuff in that letter. Everything that I could think of that went wrong in the course of the books. Everything that made the happy ending that bit more bitter than sweet.

"I don't know how I got here. Maybe something happened just before I left that other world, my old life, but I can't remember it now. So much of it is hazy and blurred. I can't remember my family's faces or what my old school looked like. I can remember my old name, though I prefer this one. And I can remember the books, of course.

"In a way, this was a dream-come-true. 'Take a step into the wonderful wizarding world of Harry Potter! Attend Hogwarts, learn magic and so much more!'. Except that the problem is that it's still me that's here. It's a me with magic and extra-special knowledge and a chance to make a difference, but it's still me with all my strengths and flaws. And I didn't like school. I don't like study. I struggle with basic stuff and have to hold a straight face when people talk about how special I was for figuring out one or two flashy tricks. Am. Was. Same difference.

"My point, Albus, is that this is something I've dealt with for years now, across two lifetimes. It's something that experts had not come up with a magic—metaphorically, that is—solution for in my old life, in spite of having decades of research. I don't blame you for not knowing what to do. That'd be pretty irrational of me."

More silence.

Then Albus let out a long, deep, breath.

"I cannot deny that I was curious about the source of your remarkable knowledge. I thought that you might speak to me of it in time and I'm gratified that you trust me so. I must admit that, of all the strange and wondrous things in my life, your story surely stands as one of the most curious."

"It's true—"

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I believe you and can find no actual flaws in your story. Like with all truly great questions, your answer has only fed my curiosity. How delightful."

While Dumbledore chuckled quietly to himself, I could only feel relief. I was scared that he would not believe me or suspect I was hiding something else. Being able to talk to someone about it... It made things much easier like a weight had been lifted.

"However while this explains a great many things, it does not resolve the problem that brought me to meet with you today. I have kept my distance as much as I've been able to, at your own request. If you wish to change that, I could find some time to tutor you personally, if that would be of any help?"

"Personal tutoring did help a lot last time," I said quietly, turning the idea over in my head. My immediate reaction was to refuse the offer, but I forced myself to think about it rationally and try to find actual reasons to accept or deny the help. "But it would cause problems. And it wouldn't solve the greater problem since I don't think even you could provide personal tutoring to every struggling student."

"Indeed," Dumbledore acquiesced, bowing his head in further thought.

"But perhaps something else..." I continued, beginning to cobble together the components of a plan. "A correspondence of some sort, perhaps? I think I'll be fine in Charms and Transfiguration so long as there's a direct link between the theory and practice aspects. Same for Potions, save for me speed issues. The Dicta-Quill that Bill and Charlie got me last year makes the essays manageable, even if I can't use it in the Library... if I can figure out Muffliato then I might be able to though."

Dumbledore sat there quietly while I thought aloud. It must have been a bizarre sight, Albus Dumbledore and a second-year student sitting against a wall while one of them seemingly mumbled to themselves.

"Okay, I'm not sure it'll work and I doubt it'd be perfect, but do you know of any people who would be willing to take questions from confused students and write patient, thorough, answers to them? As a correspondence thing? Maybe retired teachers or something. If there was a program like that in place, it'd be better than nothing, I think. I have a few ideas for communications systems that might work better, allow some kind of telepresence, but those'll take a lot of work..."

—tN—tN—tN—

It was late by the time I finished my discussion with Albus. Too late for a student to be wandering around outside of their House.

Being escorted back to said by the headmaster waived any potential punishments, though the given excuse of my being trapped by a trick corridor would probably haunt me for a while. It was just as well that I didn't pay much attention to rumours.

Albus had agreed to look into establishing some form of correspondence system with some retired teachers and other experts in various fields. I also suggested that recent Hogwarts graduates might be willing to help out, though he was a bit more sceptical of that idea. In the meantime, he expected at least two owls a week on whatever I was having difficulty with.

Nothing had actually been solved, but it was a step towards a solution. And sometimes that was all that mattered. Taking steps in the right direction.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Levitation spells took most of the effort out of moving stock around. Not that I had all that much, to begin with, but paper was heavy and my back wholeheartedly appreciated the existence of magic just then.

My initial print run had completed a day after I'd moved into Number 14, leaving me with a stack of boxes to organise and shelve. I'd ended up contracting a company that primarily printed children's books as they'd offered the best rates on works with a high proportion of pictures. I was actually moderately proud of the artwork I'd come up with. After my first Christmas in Hogwarts, I'd taken to tracing and painting pictures from various other volumes from the Library and using them to experiment with the more magical side of artwork.

My initial vague dreams of kickstarting a magical animation industry had never progressed beyond fantasies, but I'd become quite proficient in making magical moving drawings and even managed to instil basic behaviours in them. When I first thought of gamifying the Defence Against the Dark Arts course I'd quickly hit upon the idea of working them into the project.

The storeroom wasn't even half-filled once I'd finished moving all the boxes in. Well, almost all the boxes. I kept about half-a-dozen separate for the shop floor itself.

The basic rules of the game I'd put together were hacked together from a few Muggle systems I'd looked at. Given that my goal was to try and get people to learn something through playing, I'd had to simplify a lot of the rules, which had made balancing... Problematic. I was confident that I'd got it right in the end though.

In the end, I had four main products. One was a book explaining the rules of play, intended for players. Another was a different book of rules for people running the games. The third was an enchanted set of a game board and player pieces that I'd managed to create over the course of two years. Rather like wizard chess sets, they could move at the players' commands with the added interest of the board being able to shift itself to provide a variety of possible battlefields. The final product was a small crystal ball on a stand that was—in spite of the ornate appearance—a glorified random number generator.

In truth, I'd have preferred to have made them much simpler. A cardboard map, a set of plastic figurines and some dice would have served just fine for Muggles. Except that while Muggles were reliant on their imaginations to live their fantasies—and were subsequently less demanding on the quality of the props used to enact the gameplay—magical people were used to magic. They were accustomed to pictures that moved and statues that spoke. Magical beasts were something everyone's second cousin had run into at some point. To capture a magical audience's attention I'd had to brush up on the aesthetics.

That said, McGonagall herself had approved of the work I'd done on the board. Though technically made of wood, it could assume the appearance and texture of stone, dirt, ice or metal at the game master's command. I had plans to create more detailed models and sets and sell them as expansions, but those could wait. Similarly, the basic tin monster figurines could adopt the shape any of the creatures listed in the basic handbook but I had about a dozen other animated pewter statuettes of magical creatures that I hoped people would buy to supplement their games.

I was fairly sure I was making a few mistakes—probably more than a few—but I would deal with them as they became problems.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Impressive craftsmanship," Frank said approvingly, holding one of my dragon figurines up to the light. As my neighbours had shown an interest in my plans, I'd invited them over to show them what I was working on. Henry had promised he'd be over once he'd finished taking a batch of cookies out of the oven, but Frank had come with me. "Did you make all of these yourself, Poe?"

"I made the originals myself," I explained. "After that, I enchanted a few Muggle machines to produce copies and enchanted them with animation separately. Each of them is a little bit different as a result."

"Enchanting Muggle machines, eh?" Frank grinned, prodding at the dragon's head with a finger and pulling it free from the grasp of its—blunt—fangs with a chuckle. "Hope you won't get in trouble for that. There's some tricky legislation around that."

"No, I'm in the clear. I went through everything with Arthur Weasley from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts before I started work and he gave it the stamp of approval. I have to keep them safely stored secured so they won't fall into Muggle hands, but otherwise, I'm good. I think it's the same sort of deal as the publishers who use modified Muggle printing presses."

"That's convenient, I suppose," Frank said, putting the dragon back onto the table.

My figurines were made at a scale of roughly one-to-a-hundred compared to their real-life counterparts, putting the player pieces at a bit under two centimetres in height and a Hungarian Horntail model—the largest one I had—at a bit over fifteen centimetres in length. Getting the proportions right was a pain, but it was worth it to see the player pieces standing next to a larger piece and getting a sense of how small and fragile they were by comparison. Educating people was my goal, after all.

"I'm working on other stuff as well," I said, making an effort to fill in the silence. "I'm not the best at crafting, to be honest. Even these models are basically just tracing. Same for the pictures." I gestured at some of the few large-scale pictures I'd made and hung on the walls, depicting teams of witches and wizards in battle against assorted opponents. Including one showing a fight between two groups of witches and wizards. A fight, not a duel. The distinction was important and written in blood. "I want to create buildings, like houses and shops and castles and stuff that people can put on the boards and have the players explore."

"Nice. Little building models that they'd have to buy separately, I'd imagine?" Frank asked, a knowing grin forming.

"Exactly. Once I have the production process down properly I'll properly sell them in sets. So people could buy a village or a town street or a farm or whatever. Or they can pick out particular buildings they want. I think it'd make sense to make the packs better value though. It's how I've seen Muggles doing it."

"Makes sense. What about forests and rivers and the like?"

"I'm working that into an upgraded version of the board that I'd sell as a premium product once it's complete. I think I can work it into mats that can be applied to the older boards as well though. The eventual idea is that the game master can just tell the board what to look like and it'll do it. There are limits of course. I'm not sure how I'd do mountains or slopes beyond a certain steepness."

"I'd be impressed to see that, not gonna lie. Say, what if someone wanted something custom? Like, if they wanted models based on their own house or player pieces based on themselves?"

There was a glint in Frank's eye this time and I suspected that he wasn't just asking hypothetically.

"Well, I'd need material to work with. Photographs and the like. And it'd take a while. Like I said, I'm not really an artist, I just copy existing stuff. So it'd cost extra, especially if they wanted the models to do anything special."

Frank just nodded, thinking deeply.

"I might get back to you on that. I'll wait until you've at least finished the 'standard' models first though. Good quality enchanted models may be more lucrative than you'd expect though. I wouldn't be surprised at all if there were people who only buy your games to have the models."

"I can see that," I murmured, frowning. While I was far from objecting at the idea of a more profitable income stream, it was rather missing the point if people ignored my actual goal of trying to teach them about Defence.

Henry knocked on the door just then and broke me from my contemplations. Once let in, he was as impressed with my work as Frank had been, carefully wiping his hands clean before picking up the models for examination.

"They seem sturdier than the kind of models that I could just conjure up," he noted. "So, what were you saying about there being a game with these?"

I smiled and pulled out a rulebook to explain how to play.

—tN—tN—tN—

I was proud of the effect my limited interior decorating and retail skills had produced.

The shop floor of Number 14 was now well-lit all day long by glowing lanterns. The display by the window showed the covers of the few books I had ready but was mostly dominated by several gameboards and sets of pieces that I had charmed to play by themselves. Passers-by who stopped to watch would see a series of battles between assorted magical creatures play themselves out in various different fashions. Given the magical world's lowered standard for violence in their games—the hangman set sold by Weasley Wizard's Wheezes and the 'barbaric' nature of wizard's chess came to mind—I'd taken the liberty of designing the models to ooze a red liquid when wounded that would vanish after a short time.

Inside, I'd covered the tables along the sides of the room with more models ready to strut their stuff before any potential customers, interspersed by stacks of books. I'd had the idea of setting up a few boards and sets of pieces on the tables in the middle of the room so they'd be ready to play if anyone did come in. The walls were decorated with blown-up versions of the illustrations in the books along with a few of the more stylised scenes I'd shown to Frank and Henry.

I'd actually had to remove about half the tables from the shop floor and spread out the ones I did leave. I didn't have enough merchandise to cover them all and this way the shop didn't look quite as empty.

And—of course—everything was charmed against theft in at least five different ways. Albus had told me that my paranoia would earn me even Alastor Moody's grudging respect, should our paths ever cross. I took it as a reason for pride. While I had avoided gaining any enemies—that I was aware of—in my time in the magical world so far, the memories of what had happened on Diagon Alley in the Second Wizarding War in the original timeline haunted me. I'd suffer a reputation of being paranoid if that's what it took to escape being the victim of a random Death Eater attack.

I had my books, I had my workshop, I had my store and I had my own little flat. I was free, comfortable and independent like I'd never been before and I would stay that way if it took everything I had.

And step one in safeguarding that was to earn money. Well, step one was actually the aforementioned paranoid defences, but I felt that went without saying. Which reminded me...

I unpacked the last two boxes and ordered their contents to assemble themselves. With another wave of my wand, the two complete suits of armour I'd pieced together from pieces of salvaged steel took up their stations at opposite ends of the counter. They were a moderately impressive display piece, but could also fight to bar access to my flat if necessary. I hoped it didn't come to that. I was well aware that they would be little more than a speedbump against all but the most innocent of intruders.

The register I'd acquired floated into position on the counter with a metallic ding.

And then everything was in place.

—tN—tN—tN—

Whimsik Alley was not a retail hotspot like Diagon Alley was. I had been aware of that when I decided to set up shop there. I'd also been aware that my store would not find much footfall traffic on Whimsik. However, I had my reasons. Leaving aside my inability to afford a unit in Diagon Alley, I was as much seeking a place to live as I was a place to set up shop. Whimsik was a community quite unlike Diagon and that was what I sought. I liked many aspects of living in a city, but the rush and bustle were not among them. Whimsik was a step outside all that in more ways than one. It suited me and if I had to work harder to make a living, then at least I'd be living a life I enjoyed.

All that being said, I was not unsurprised when my shop's grand opening did not result in a flood of customers. I'd scrounged together enough to afford small advertisements in the Daily Prophet, Witch's Weekly and The Quibbler, but I didn't hold out much hope that they'd receive too much attention.

As it happened, I was visited by about a dozen witches and wizards previously unknown to me throughout the day. Of that dozen, three made purchases. One of them had—as predicted by my neighbour—been only interested in my models and had taken a model of a mountain troll, a Swedish Shortsnout and a hippogriff. The last two had each left with a complete 'standard set' of a game board, crystal ball and books. One of them had also purchased a Horntail model and promised she'd be back for more. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was a Muggle-born witch who was already familiar with the concept.

The bulk of my visitors were people already known to me. Frank and Henry had dropped by with a tray of cookies—"These are the last freebies," Henry had promised—and left with a gameboard and some books that I'd tried to give them for free but that they'd eventually prevailed in paying half-price for. A few of Whimsik Alley's other residents had called in to give their congratulations, though few made purchases.

Professor McGonagall had found time to visit, much to my surprise and happiness. Like the café-owners, she refused to accept a free set. Unlike them, she was able to make me accept the full price. I silently scolded myself for not sending her a set in advance and compensated by slipping a model of a cat into her bag while she wasn't looking.

Some people that I recognised from Hogwarts but couldn't name for the life of me had proved to be my best customers. Unlike with my mentor and my neighbours, I had no compunctions about charging them full price and they—for whatever reason—seemed to like me enough to at least fake sufficient interest to make a purchase.

All told I'd managed to twenty-one models, a dozen of each of the books and fourteen each of the gameboards and crystal balls. I'd made eight galleons and ten sickles. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

I closed up shop as the sun went down and retired for the night with a smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"What is this, Stevens?"

Professor McGonagall had only skimmed the first few paragraphs of the essay I handed her before putting it down to look at me, her gaze sharp. Intimidating, but expected.

"It's the research I've done on the process of becoming an Animagus, Professor," I said fingers curling and relaxing at my side. "I know that it's far more complex than what I'm capable of at the moment, but I was curious and did some reading in the Library."

"I see," McGonagall said, relaxing slightly. "I thought for a moment that you were entertaining delusions of attempting the transformation by yourself. Given that even the theory of the Animagus transformation is not looked at until your third-year classes, I'm sure I don't have to emphasise how completely out of the question that is." She paused and turned back to examine my work, her eyes skipping rapidly down the roll of parchment. "Though I must say that this does seem quite comprehensive. Yes, you have the dangers and pitfalls of the process outlined well enough..." She trailed off again as she went back to the top and seemed to read through it in more detail.

I'd approached the Transfiguration teacher after class, as I occasionally did. Such discussions had somewhat declined in frequency once I finished working through the list of questions her book had raised, but I wanted her opinion on this particular bit of research.

Becoming an animagus had never been a major goal for me. While there were distinct advantages to possessing the ability, it was highly risky and very advanced. In the preceding weeks, however, the urge to make some visible progress on something had driven me to investigate the process. Which had led to making notes on the transformation, which had lead to writing those notes up into a more coherent form, which I'd decided to ask Professor McGonagall to take a look at. She had agreed to consider mentoring me if I chose to attempt the transformation, after all. Though I had my doubts about whether she remembered it.

"Well, you can consider me moderately impressed, Poe. I may end up honouring my promise sooner than I'd anticipated, if you are still interested." Professor McGonagall handed the scroll back to me and smiled—a discreet, measured grin—at me. "Certainly not yet, not even any time this year, but at some point... Yes, if you can keep your current level of progress through the next two years than I'll consider letting you make an attempt. However, I will only even consider it if you stay out of trouble, understand?"

"Yes, Professor. Thank you so much," I said and made my way out of the classroom. My ears may have been deceiving me, but I thought I heard her humming in the room behind me.

—tN—tN—tN—

Confidence swings were annoying. In the weeks following my near-breakdown and talk with Albus in the Room of Requirement, I'd calmed down considerably. Albus assured me that he hadn't actually done anything yet, but the classes that had been bothering me before had seemed to fall back and become more manageable. I was mostly sure I recognised the experience and was resigned to the other shoe falling after a week or so. While it lasted though, I made good progress on both my assigned coursework and my extracurricular projects.

I had technically completed the practical aspects of my second-year Charms and Defence classes, though I was less sure on my Defence work. Professor Flitwick had been delighted to observe a demonstration of my charmwork and had given some useful criticism on things I was doing wrong. He also directed me to a good book of duelling tips in the Library, which I'd since read from cover-to-cover.

Even Snape had bestowed a rare 'Outstanding' grade on my Girding potion, vindicating my three previous attempts at it with the Weasleys' help.

In my bogey subjects, I had yet to rise to the same level of accomplishment. I was still the slowest in the class on a broomstick, the last person to pack up my telescope in Astronomy and overly skittish in Herbology. History of Magic didn't bear mentioning. I thought that the quality of my work may have been improving slightly, which was the best I could hope for.

—tN—tN—tN—

There was a downside to meeting with the Weasley brothers regularly. Namely, Percy's rat. Scabbers aka Peter Pettigrew. Percy didn't carry him everywhere, but the rat was a frequent enough guest at our meet-ups that it put me on edge.

I consulted with Dumbledore and we elected to leave the traitor be for the moment. To the best of my knowledge, Pettigrew had remained completely docile until Sirius escaped Azkaban. As such, there was little danger in leaving him where he could be watched.

The one point that I had raised was that Peter's capture would aid considerably in securing the release of Sirius. The prospect of getting Black out quicker had a strong appeal to it, but Dumbledore had eventually come to the conclusion that it would not address the larger problem. Put simply, Pettigrew's survival would indeed get Sirius out of Azkaban, but it would not be enough to exact the reforms Dumbledore was looking to have enacted. By working at it from a different angle and taking a slower route, the hope was to reform the system.

I could only hope that Sirius would forgive us. To leave him even one day longer than necessary in the presence of the Dementors... 'For the Greater Good' rang hollow.

But I acquiesced to Dumbledore's judgement, for the moment. He wasn't happy with it either, but he said he would rather bear Sirius's hatred for the rest of his life and have such an incident never happen again than to have him free on the morrow and doom uncountable others to the same fate. It was a cold logic. I didn't like it.

But I was able to put Sirius's situation out of my head most of the time around the Weasley's. I had to, really. I didn't want to worry them or risk raising Peter's suspicions. So instead, whenever the worries surfaced, I threw myself into hearing Bill or Charlie's plans for the future. Percy had plans as well, but was still a bit too young to conceive of any but the broadest of strokes.

Bill was aiming to become a Curse-Breaker, I knew. It was the adventure of the job—moreso than the gold—that attracted him and he would talk for hours about famous tombs and the people who explored them. When he discovered that I was studying concealment spells, he begged me to help him practice uncovering hidden objects and traps. It was good for my own learning as well, so I agreed readily.

Charlie was fixated on dragons, of course. He dragged me out to Hagrid's hut on multiple occasions to sympathise with the caretaker about the lack of any on grounds. I personally had to agree with them on that point. Hogwarts could only be improved by the addition of a dragon. They made everything cooler. Hotter, technically, but those were just details.

I enjoyed sitting back and listening to the eldest Weasley brothers arguing good-naturedly about whether dragons or tombs were better. I was just happy that they'd found things to be passionate about. Say what you would about the Weasleys, that was one thing about them that I envied. Even in poverty, Arthur and Molly loved what they did.

—tN—tN—tN—

Bill had apparently claimed the need to properly study for his new and challenging NEWT subjects. I strongly suspected that Charlie had deliberately flunked a few subjects just to also use the excuse of study—I knew for a fact that he was actually planning to sneak out and help Hagrid to care for the magical creatures who needed extra care and attention in the winter. Percy had argued to be allowed to stay as well, but Mrs Weasley had prevailed in having at least one of her sons home for Christmas. I actually missed having Percy around, even if his absence gave the rest of us an excuse to step up some of our 'study sessions'.

On the first day of the winter holidays, however, we wrapped up and trudged outside into the knee-deep snow on the first morning of the holidays, half-dragged there by Bill. The sky was half-clear, a plain of blue smothered by large swathes of grey. It was bright though, which was a relief. The grounds were covered in snow, an untamed wilderness of white. Bill lead us to an area beside where I estimated the lake to be. Once there, he turned around to face Charlie and me.

I couldn't see his face under his scarf—wrapped many times around his lower face and neck—but I just knew he was grinning like a loon.

"So, you plan on telling us what you have in mind before or after we freeze to death, Bill?" Charlie said, stamping his boots to clear some more legroom for himself in the snowdrift.

"Hold your Horntails for just a minute, will you?" Bill said, his rolling eyes entirely unobscured. "So, I was thinking about how we could make our little duelling sessions more fun and came up with the idea of a change of scenery."

"So we're practicing outside now?" I asked, eyeing the grounds again with a duel in mind. "The snow would make footing more difficult and the glare would mess with our aim, I think. Not to mention the more variable terrain. Sounds like it could be good, though we'd have to ease off on the Full-Body Binds. Don't want anyone catching hypothermia from being left in the snow."

"That's... Those are good points, but that wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Bill admitted. I liked that about Bill. He was proud of his skills and knowledge, but he was always willing to admit when someone thought of something he hadn't. It was a trait that would serve him well in the tombs Gringotts would send him into, I suspected. "What I was actually thinking of was... well, do you both know what a snow fort is?"

I looked at Bill. I looked at the snow. I imagined a magically constructed and defended structure made of ice, the three of us dodging around it to try and get an advantage on each other.

"I'm in," I said, already drawing my wand.

"Bill, please tell me you know why Poe's do eager all of a sudden," Charlie said in a pseudo-whisper. "I've never seen them like this before and it's kind of unnerving."

"No need to worry," I said, an unseen grin to match Bill's forming. "I just have so many ideas I want to use. Hey, Bill, I have an idea for the first round. How about you let us two work together to build something up for... let's say half an hour. Then you have to try and attack our 'fort'."

"I actually had a different thing again in mind where each of us would build forts and then try to steal stuff from each other and..." Bill trailed off as he found the bait I'd hidden in my proposal. "Wait, that'd be like a practice run at breaking into a tomb, wouldn't it?"

"Yep."

"I agree with Poe's idea," Bill said, looking at Charlie, who was shaking his head.

"What, you think I'm going to miss a chance to try and outwit you like this? Let's get building, Poe. Bill, you're not allowed to look."

Bill wandered back into the castle while we went to work. Neither of us knew a whole pile about building things out of snow, with or without magic, but we managed to kludge some stuff together.

After a few tries, we were able to levitate chunks of snow and roughly shape them. Then one of us would use Glacius to freeze them into that shape and glue them to each other with a Sticking Charm. I cast Glacius on them again after that, just to be sure.

What we made wasn't a very advanced structure. It was basically a ten-metre wide mound—created with judicious combination of Ventus and Glacius to blow snowdrifts into position—that we built a corridor through, then put a platform on top of with a hole in the middle. After that, we froze some wall-shaped chunks of snow on the ground, levitated them up and stuck them into position to create a fortlike shape. At my suggestion, we stuffed more snow into the space between the platform and the mound until it looked like a rectangular structure rather than just a box on a mound. The end result was instead a ten-by-ten metre box on the ground. We cut the shape of some battlements into the top, just for the look of the thing.

That took about twenty minutes. Then we had to trap it and prepare some kind of defenses.

I ran around the outside casting Imperturbable Charms around the outside. Hopefully, that would stop him from getting a grip if he tried to cling up.

Inside, Charlie hollowed out a few openings along the corridor. Then we both filled them with snowballs that would—I'd copied the Bludgers I spent so much time fighting against in the Room of Requirement—pelt Bill as he went past. Charlie cast a Glacius on them as well, so they freeze solid if they hit something. Then I concealed the opening so they would just appear to be blank patches of wall until Bill went past. Then we reached the center.

In the middle of our fort was a hole roughly double the width of Bill's armspan. The walls were slick, though not quite completely smooth and would present Bill with a vertical climb of about five metres.

Charlie and I levitated each other up and finagled a weather charm Charlie had read—I made sure to get the name of the book of him—to create a constant drizzle down into the hole below. Then our time was up.

"Rady or not, here I come you two!" Bill hollered from below. Charlie went to the makeshift ramparts and waved down at him.

"How do you think he'll do?" he asked me.

"Dunno, let's watch," I said and joined him at the ramparts. I broke a few pieces of ice off a nearby wall and made them into mirrors so we could see what happened once Bill entered the corridor.

Bill was cautious. Instead of charging right in, he walked around the fort first, prodding the walls with his wand at several points before coming back to the entrance. Then he cast a floating fireball in front of him and walked in.

The heat from the conjured fire wasn't enough to seriously endanger the fort's integrity and I knew Bill wasn't stupid enough to risk collapsing the place around him. It was enough to confuse the hidden snowballs though, which burst out and tried to pelt the flames to little avail. Most just passed through harmlessly and melted away in the process, a few flew at Bill and were blasted away easily. He was forced to conjure several more fireballs after the sustained cold assault wore out the first. This had the pleasantly—for us, not Bill—unexpected side-effect of creating enough heat to trigger then next few traps.

Bill got through the corridor mostly unscathed, with a few patches of ice across his body that he had to direct his wand at for a few minutes to melt. He looked around the hole, keeping the rain off him with an invisible umbrella—another spell I made a note to get ahold of—and laughed. We could actually see him directly now instead of through the reflections of a series of floating ice-mirrors.

"Not bad, you two! Not bad at all! With how cold it is, all this drizzle would be at serious risk of freezing me solid on top of making it hard to see. I think you may have overlooked something though. Meteolojinx Recanto!"

The drizzle stopped instantly. I glared at Charlie, who just looked sheepish.

"I forgot that the counterspell was in the book as well. And that Bill borrowed it after me. I can just recast it though, right?"

"No, I don't think that's really in the spirit of the exercise," I admitted reluctantly. "In future, if we can't protect the enchantment somehow, perhaps rig it so the water freezes solid once the rain stops falling? Or make the falling water keep something else from activating?"

"Those could work," Charlie conceded. "Certainly help keep Bill on his toes. Guess I'm studying over break after all."

While we were making notes for our next attempt at building a fort, Bill was making his way towards us. Instead of levitating himself up—which was a rather precarious thing to attempt, compared to having someone else levitate you—he was conjuring a spiral set of stairs leading up to the platform. A staircase made of ice, to be exact.

"He used the water left on the ground from our rain to do that, didn't he?" I said, resisting the urge to smack my face into my gloved palm.

"I think so," Charlie said. "Git."

Bill sauntered out of the hole a few moments later. As before, he was evidently grinning beneath his wrappings.

"That was fun. Not as difficult as I'd hoped though, which is a bit disappointin—"

"Descendo," I said, cutting him off and aiming my wand skywards.

The pile of snow I'd concealed and levitated overhead during construction fell, burying us with a thump. Almost all. I managed to get a Shield Charm up in time to avoid to avoid any landing on me, even if it collapsed a moment later.

"The tomb collapsed due to one last booby trap as soon as you reached the final chamber," I said.

Bill sighed while Charlie frowned at me.

"Hey, that's a bit harsh, Poe. This is just a game, you know?"

Bill shook his head at his brother's words.

"No, Poe's right. I should have expected one last trick. This is my loss. Well played, you two."

It felt bitter. The brief internal swooping feeling that came with winning—I tried to tell myself that I didn't like it, I really did—was smothered by shame. I had planned to drop the snow once Bill made it to the top, but the way I'd done it... I just came across as a sore loser and that was no fun at all.

"I messed up."

I hadn't meant to say that out loud, but when the Weasley brothers turned from where they were getting the snow off each other I kept talking.

"Sorry, sorry, I had planned to drop the snow, but not like that. I shouldn't have made it a jab at you, Bill. Sorry, I was being stupid and—"

"Hey, hey, we get it," Bill said, frowning. "I accept your apology. And honestly, even if you think you did something wrong, I feel I probably still owe you thanks. I made a dumb mistake and if your rubbing it in makes the lesson stick, then so be it."

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Poe," Charlie said, voice gentle—like he was talking to one of Hagrid's frightened animals. "We all do stupid things sometimes, say dumb things that we want to take back. We won't hold it against you."

He trudged over to me through the snow and patted me on the head. It was a touch condescending and the contact was slightly uncomfortable, but I was still relieved. I'd been worried I'd wrecked my friendship with Bill and Charlie. I guess the really stupid part was in underestimating their ability to forgive me.

"Well, won't hold it against you much," Bill said. He had another invisible smile on his face, I could just tell. And somehow, this one just made me nervous. "Next round is you versus the both of us. And we're taking forty-five minutes to build. I'm not going to send you into a sloppy piece of work like this."

—tN—tN—tN—

I was generous and gave the two brothers a full hour to work. And by 'generous', I meant 'stupid and guilt-ridden'. Bill and Charlie had built what looked like four subforts arranged around a much larger one that reminded me of a stepped pyramid.

Each of the smaller ones was about the same size as the one I'd built with Charlie, except made of proper bricks of snow instead of just blank ice. The central one was twice as tall and divided into three different levels, each with their own set of ramparts. Each of the smaller forts fed into the central one via a closed corridor. I was simultaneously nervous and intrigued at what the future-dragonkeeper and future-cursebreaker had come up with.

There was no sign of either Weasley as I approached. I was debating how to go about exploring the fort when the paranoia I'd been trying to beat into myself kicked in.

Stopping a dozen metres away from the structure, I fished the glass Dumbledore had given me the previous year out of my pocket. Raising it to my eye, I walked a perimeter around the fort. As I did so, I raised my wand in the other hand and muttered Specialis Revelio every few steps.

The glass revealed ranks of disillusioned snowmen standing on the second level of the larger fort as well as a number of concealed entrances cut into the otherwise featureless walls. The snowmen were enchanted somehow, probably animated to attack me if I got too close. There were spells in the walls too, more than just the freezing and sticking spells myself and Charlie had used. And, most importantly, there were spells set around each subfort's entrance. I considered my options.

I wasn't about to try and break through the walls. Even if that weren't against the spirit of the game, it was both dangerous and likely untenable. Tightly-packed snow was pretty strong even without being bewitched. To get through I'd have to follow the doorways and passageways my opponents had created for me. What I could do was deal with the snowmen.

I held my wand up and measured the distance. The second level of the central fort was about forty metres away and ten metres above my level. It was quite a distance to aim a spell. Then again, at least my targets were stationary. And it was good practice.

After a few moments of consideration, I decided to use a charm from the third-year curriculum that created a magical rope to pull in the target. If I wasn't careful I'd be pulled towards it, but I considered it worth it. It had the benefit of not being too destructive if—or when—I missed and performed reasonably well at a distance. I was able to hook targets over a dozen metres away while practicing in the Room of Requirement.

"Carpe Retractum!"

The orangey-gold rope shot out before rebounding back after covering only half the distance. I gritted my teeth and cast again and again.

In the past, I'd managed to achieve unusual results from charms by using them in unorthodox ways. Now, however, I was lacking pure power. Power in spells came from practice, from confidence and from determination, or so I'd found. I was not a particularly forceful person. I was more likely to yield than to bull ahead until I got my own way. But my wand was not. Alder was a contrary wood and sought out wielders whose nature opposed its own. I'd held my wand daily, even during my holidays. I'd let my fingers find comfort in running along its length. I'd considered it a part of me, as irreplaceable as an arm or a leg. Maybe even moreso.

And as I cast again and again to no avail, my wand dug its heels in and refused to yield to an opponent as meagre as distance.

On my fiftieth—or maybe higher, I'd lost count—attempt, the gleaming rope finally lashed over the edge of the second level. More through luck than my own aim, I took hold of one of the snowmen.

Immediately the tension ran up my arm and pulled in, towards the fort. The snow beneath my feet, usually so slippery and treacherous, bunched up and compacted, catching my feet and holding me in place. The snowman teetered before sliding towards the edge and—finally—giving way and tumbling to the ground. It shattered into powder.

I took a moment to catch my breath and repeated the process with the next snowman. All told, it took me about twenty minutes to clear them all. In the limited time Bill and Charlie had, they only made ten of them. And they'd still taken me longer to deal with than it had taken Bill to get all the way through our fort.

The sentries were down now though and I could proceed with pride at dealing with an obstacle before I even entered. Speaking of entrances, I smirked beneath my scarf as I undid the spells laid on the doorway to the nearest fort. I may have had less experience than either of the other two, but I'd put a significant enough amount of time into studying magical locks and alarms to defuse their efforts with ease.

Not that that was all I had to contend with. Remembering how Bill had sent a fire ahead of him, I moulded a humanoid shape out of nearby snow and hollowed out a hole in its centre. Then I cast a spell I'd found the previous evening, a charm that created warm flames that would neither burn nor melt anything. Given their bluebell colour, I had my suspicions that it was the same one that Hermione had found in her first year. Then I levitated the dummy ahead of me into the corridor.

As expected, there were traps. The corridor was initially similar to the one Bill had conquered so easily, but that impression faded quickly. A few metres in, the snow underfoot shifted and fell away beneath me. I brought the dummy back towards me as fast as I could and grabbed hold of it, grateful that I'd thought to reinforce it with a quick 'glacius'.

The dummy hit the ground and tilted under my weight, but it was enough to stop my fall. Enough to let me swing my legs up and clamber out. The pitfall that I'd fallen prey to revealed that this particular fort was built over the lake and taken advantage of that to nearly drop me into the waters. The floor had been thin ice covered in a dusting of snow. A cunning trap that made no use of magic and went completely undetected by my floating dummy.

I froze the water and maintained the spell until the ice was thick enough to hold my weight. Then I cast a 'ventus' along the corridor, disturbing the snow and uncovering three more similar traps. The wind also triggered some other snare further along and caused a wheel of compacted snow to fall from the ceiling and roll away from me. I was duly impressed by the unintentional Indiana Jones reference.

I dodged, disabled or faked-out the rest of the traps until I reached the end of the corridor. There, I found a stairway leading upwards and a huge wheel lying at an angle against the wall. Checking for spells and traps every few steps, I made it up the stairs and through the second floor. There were pitfalls there as well, chutes that would have dumped me in the lake or outside. All except for one, which went downwards but didn't seem to descend far enough to enter the lake. Curious, I conjured another ice-mirror periscope—that was the word!—like I'd used to watch Bill earlier. At the bottom of the chute was a closed room with a stone on a pedestal. Guessing it was important, I sent another 'Carpe Retractum' down the chute and grabbed it.

The stone was about the size of my palm and had a rune carved on the side of it that was probably Bill's work. There were no actual spells on it, so I pocketed it and kept going.

The corridor on the first floor of the fort was, unlike the ground floor, built around the perimeter of the structure. Starting from the staircase, I eventually came back around almost to the same point. This time though, I found the corridor leading to the larger fort. Taking the same precautions as before, I made my way across to the central fort.

The interior of the building was a maze of sorts. This time, however, I was not over the lake and didn't have to worry quite as much about pitfall traps. There were a number of snowmen like I'd dealt with outside, though these ones weren't disillusioned. I took pleasure in blasting them away with different spells. The first one got a Knockback Jinx, another got hit with Ventus. The third was beheaded with a Severing Charm and the fourth was pulled over a pitfall leading outside.

It was fun, kind of like a video game. Just colder.

The maze took a little while to navigate. Bill and Charlie had complicated things by charming some of the doorways to look like parts of walls, and some of the walls to open and close whenever I wasn't looking. Casting 'specialis revelio' revealed the tricks pretty quickly though. Eventually, I made my way to the center of the second level. There I found a chamber with a thick column going through the middle. It probably led from the top level to the ground floor, so I left it be. Once more, blasting through the walls was missing the point of the game. Besides, the puzzles were fun.

The central column had four sides. In the middle of each one was an indent with a rune carved in the ice. Examining them all, I compared them to the stone I had in my pocket. As I'd hoped, one of them matched. Taking a few steps back—just in case—I levitated the stone into the matching indent. Once it made contact, that wall of the column light up for a moment.

When the light cleared, the stone was gone and replaced with a message. As I was reading, an icy ladder grew out of the wall next to the message to an exit that appeared in the ceiling.

"Keystone accepted. Proceed to entrance above," I read. "Well, that seems straightforward."

And it was. Or at least, it was since I'd gotten rid of the snowman sentries first. The ladder had led to the second level I'd seen earlier, which confused me. The geometries didn't quite seem to add up. I turned it over for a moment before remembering that Bill was a NEWT student. I doubted it would last long, but playing around with the height of a building made of snow was probably within his reach.

Outside, it was now dark. The sun was sinking and the blue was losing to the grey. I thought I could make out a few falling flakes as well. I put that aside and considered the center of the fort. This was, I suspected the equivalent of the climb in the middle of our fort from earlier. An obstacle that demanded the explorer create their own path. I didn't have any water around to create an ice staircase out of though. And even if I did, it'd feel derivative. This called for creativity.

I still had my dummy beside me. Now I floated it a bit higher in the air and cast a sticking charm on it. Then I levitated it up higher until it was hovering over the ramparts of the fort's highest level. Grinning, I dropped it down just behind the crenelations. I took some steps back until I was almost at the edge before raising my wand and aiming.

"Carpe Retractum!"

My aim had improved that afternoon and I snared the dummy on my first try. The rope tensed and pulled. This time I went with it, running across the level and jumping at the wall. I'd never tried anything like this before and my knees banged against the ice painfully. I persevered and hauled myself upwards by my wand. Unlike the Weasleys' snowmen, my dummy was frozen solid and securely anchored. It gave me the foothold I needed to pull myself over the top. Where I collapsed, rubbing my doubtlessly-bruised legs through my insulating layers.

Once I felt I could stand, I examined the rooftop. It was featureless, save for a hole in the centre that mirrored the one in the roof of the first fort we'd built. Except that this one went deeper. They'd done something to it as well, filled it with a fog that stopped me from seeing what lay below, even when shining a light down it from my wand.

I considered lowering myself down bit by bit using my dummy as an anchor again but decided against it. Even if I wasn't already tired, it was a long way down and I wasn't sure I could maintain the spell that long. Besides, it would leave me defenceless against any traps that lay in wait on the way down.

"Ventus," I muttered and the fog dispersed for a moment before returning. "Finite incantatem. Meteolojinx recanto. Ventus." Even with the counterspells, the fog reformed before I could see anything.

I paced the rooftop and thought. The Weasleys had used various tricks in the fort. They used hidden traps and tricks, even come up with a clever mechanism to require me to pass through one of the smaller forts first. I was almost tempted to go back and see what was in the other forts, to see if they had the same traps as the one I'd used. It was an impressive amount of effort and had always been just-about solvable with what I knew.

There was nothing around for me to levitate myself down the shaft. Nothing I could transfigure into a rope or ladder. Besides, those were solutions that were a bit beyond my abilities. And the Weasleys were fairly familiar with what I was capable of by now. I stopped and stared into the hole.

Maybe I should just jump. It was a very Gryffindor type of solution. Take a jump into the unknown, a leap of faith. Except it didn't have to be a leap of faith.

I pulled off my outermost layer of clothing and shivered in the resulting chill. Working quickly, I spread it out in front of me and cast a Cushioning Charm on it. I picked it back up and wrapped it around me. I made sure my wand was tucked away safely so it wasn't sticking out—but could still be drawn quickly.

Then I jumped into the hole.

I tumbled through the air, twisting to try and keep the cloak I'd just charmed between me and whatever lay below. Fog wrapped around me, stealing away the light. But I thought I could see the shadows, hear the whispers of projectiles shooting out of the walls. They were no Bludgers though and I passed by too quickly for them to have a prayer of striking home.

Then I hit the bottom.

It was like landing on a pile of cushions. I felt the impact, but it was as gentle as if I'd fallen only a few inches. I rolled over and opened my eyes—I closed them at some point during the few seconds of freefall and not noticed. The room I was in was brightly lit by several floating icy braziers filled with the same bluebell flames I'd put in my dummy. And standing a few feet from me was the two Weasley brothers, Charlie in the middle of checking his watch.

"One hour and about twenty minutes, I think," he announced. "That's judging by when we started hearing traps go off since the spells we put on the entrances didn't work."

"Not bad, Poe," Bill said, grinning and coming over to offer me a hand. "We weren't entirely sure you'd make it all the way to the end. And don't worry, we didn't put in any last-minute tricks."

"To be fair, it was more like we couldn't think of any," Charlie cut in, his tone wry. "We'd used up all our ideas by the time we got to the end."

"They were good ideas," I said, letting Bill pull me to my feet. I was grinning as much as he was. "I thought they were lots of fun. You've got to tell me how you did some of that though."

"We will," Bill said, raising his wand towards one of the walls. "Tomorrow though. Or maybe after dinner. It's late enough as it is."

The section of wall he was pointing at began to come apart, the bricks twisting and sliding apart to reveal an opening. It took a while, the wall was very thick.

"That's the same thing they have on Diagon Alley, isn't it?" I said, looking to Charlie, who nodded. "Why do they have that wall in place anyway though? Muggles can't get through the Leaky Cauldron without a witch or wizard to escort them anyway. It seems kinda redundant to have another barrier that you need magic to get through."

"No idea," Bill said, leading the way out of the fort. "You'd have to ask Dad. Or maybe Percy, he likes bits of trivia like that. You mind getting those fires, Charlie? We don't need and ashwinders popping up while our backs are turned."

"Yeah, I got them," Charlie said, dousing each brazier in turn and extinguishing the light and heat in the room. I created a bubble of flames from the tip of my wand and let it rest in my palm. The others did the same.

"Let's get something to eat, I'm starving," Bill said, leading the way back to the castle.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The year went by quickly after the end of winter break. I gave Bill a book on famous tombs and their associated legends. I bought Charlie a model of a Swedish Shortsnout that I painted and animated myself. Percy, I was less certain about, but eventually got him a Muggle book that was intended as a beginner's guide to politics. In return, I received a jumper of my own from the Weasleys—purple with a dark blue bird on the front—and a box of Wizarding sweets. I wished I was able to afford gifts for the rest of the Weasleys, but settles for just the ones I was at school with.

Our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher met an unfortunately grisly end at the close of term. Determined to actually put into practice some of her research, she'd constructed a complex series of traps to demonstrate the importance of preparation. Unfortunately, she forgot how to disarm them and ended up... Well, I heard it was a closed-casket funeral.

By the end of the year, I'd begun correspondence with a number of noted experts in various fields, all recommended to me by Albus. As an aid to study they were a mixed bag, but it proved to be a very interesting experience once I got over the initial nervousness at corresponding with strangers. I was afraid that they'd be annoyed by some of my more inane questions—and some of them had indeed withdrawn from the arrangement—but had been quite surprised—and amused—by the candid replies I received, often couched in anecdotes of some of the more interesting failures and early endeavours.

The best part was that there was nothing keeping me from continuing my letter-writing over my summer break. I was already hopeful that my next year wouldn't prove quite as hard, in spite of the additional subjects—upon consideration I elected to study Arithmancy and Muggle Studies from my third year onwards. I hadn't really considered Muggle Studies as an option until I learnt from an older student that they were occasionally allowed to make use of Muggle technology such as computers. I wasn't sure if they were brought out of the castle for that or if there was some way of protecting them from the effects in Hogwarts. Either way, it was a good opportunity to try and find a way to marry magic with some of the more useful Muggle innovations.

Which reminded me that I had to turn down an offer to stay at the Burrow again that summer. Bill had been disappointed and I eventually agreed to at least visit once or twice. That, I could spare time for.

But the rest of my summer looked to be busy. In the latter term of my second year, I turned thirteen, meaning that I was just barely old enough to undertake some very limited work. In the Muggle world, of course, but sterling could be converted to galleons—albeit at a poor exchange rate. I wouldn't be earning much, but every bit of money that I could scrounge up would help. And maybe I could try and get some of my anxieties under control this time around if I could make myself seek out some people willing to pay a young teen for part-time work.

—tN—tN—tN—

Train journeys were generally enjoyable. They were relaxing.

You weren't scrunched up in your seat like on a car or a bus. Not tossed to-and-fro like on a boat. Not as stressed and confined as on a plane.

As a means of transport, there were few—to my mind—more comfortable than taking a train.

And there were few journeys more capable of contradicting that opinion than the one that carried me away from Hogwarts each year.

Hogwarts was a school, yes. There were tests and trials and assignments that bothered me and wore me down, yes.

But it was also freeing. It was a place where I could let down a few of my masks and laugh a bit more genuinely. It was a place where my magic—so familiar to me now that I could not recall my life before it—could be used as often as I liked. It was a place where I had a few acquaintances I could relate to. It had the Room of Requirement, the beautiful Library and a hundred other nooks and crannies I could hide away in when things became too much.

More than that, it felt real in a way the Muggle world I returned to each summer was not. The fantasy, the magic and the charming anachronisms were now more my world than banality and technology could ever be. After the colours and sheer liveliness of the world of magic, the world of the mundane felt dull and lifeless.

I didn't let myself dwell on it more than I could help. If I did, I fell into a funk for months on end and never accomplish anything. As wonderful as the hidden world I now called home was, it wouldn't do to become addicted to it. To fall listless whenever I was removed from Hogwarts... It was a bad habit to fall into.

That being said, I fully planned on seeking out a few more of the hidden spots of wizarding London. Aside from Diagon Alley, there were a few other enclaves hidden right under the Muggles' noses in the metropolis. I could just imagine them, little streets filled with witches and wizards—resplendent in their robes and eccentricity—completely invisible to the jams of cars just feet away. It was an amusing thought if an unlikely one.

"Are you sure you can't come to stay with us?" Percy asked for the tenth time that day. The young boy had taken to my Christmas gift with unexpected enthusiasm. He'd taken the book as a sign that I supported his nascent ambitions for power—why, oh why wasn't he placed in Slytherin?—and had deemed me one of his shining examples to follow, right alongside his Prefect eldest brother. I just hoped that I could temper his... Temper his rigidity from canon. There were some other books I thought I could get him which covered the many incidents in recent history where governments had proven themselves less than virtuous and infallible. Come to think of it, loyalty was a Hufflepuff trait, wasn't it?

"Sorry, Percy," I said, also for the tenth time that day. "I have other plans in place already. I will come and visit though. Watch out for my owl, okay?"

"Alright," the young boy said, drooping slightly.

Bill and Charlie were playing exploding snap on the other side of the carriage. Bill shot me a sympathetic look, though I knew not what for. The eldest Weasley brother, if I had my dates right, would be allowed to use magic this year. Conveniently enough, the Trace broke in time for most—I thought?—students to be able to get some extra practice in before starting their final year. NEWT students could probably do with every advantage they could get.

Until I reached that point, I would have to make do with what few moments I could steal in Diagon, keeping my own spellwork as discreet as possible.

Do what I could and hope it was enough.

—tN—tN—tN—

Trace or not, the next time I saw Bill Weasley I was going to hex him silly.

My summer holidays had been mostly uneventful. I got some study in, exchanged regular letters with the experts Dumbledore had put me in contact with, worked a few odd jobs to scrape together a bit more money and so on. All according to plan.

Also according to plan, I found time to visit the Burrow, much to Molly and Arthur's delight. I even managed to snag a few books on the history of engineering that I thought Arthur would find interesting. While I was visiting, Bill had dragged me off to show me some of the things he had worked on.

The aspiring redheaded cursebreaker had taken over a shed on the very edge of the Weasley's property. I noted with some satisfaction that some of the charms he'd placed on it to conceal it from prying eyes were ones I'd told him about. Inside the shed, he'd taken a number of ordinary objects and, well, cursed them.

Nothing too severe, he assured me. His aim was to become more familiar with the processes behind the magic so better his chances of breaking similar bewitchments in the future.

I had to admit that I was somewhat impressed by some of the things he was able to do. An old glass bottle, for example, had been enchanted to overflow with oil if it was unstoppered and to continue flowing with it until it was somehow sealed again. A small wooden horse had been inflicted with a self-duplicating curse akin to the one protecting the Lestrange vault. I kept my hands away from that one.

The problem lay with a hand mirror that Bill had gotten more creative with. He'd experimented with a few different spells with the intent of trapping anyone who looked in it. Unfortunately, he was unable to test the mirror properly as the gnomes he'd... Recruited for the task had vanished without a trace and the protections he'd built in spared him from being affected. For safety's sake, he covered the mirror with a thick piece of cloth that obscured the reflective surface entirely.

Naturally, as he picked it up to show it to me the cloth tore on something and exposed just a small section of the mirror. The glint of light caught my eye after he set it down and I turned to look more closely. Then things got a little... Fractured.

I was in the Burrow, but it was a mishmash of how it normally was. Some chunks of rooms were duplicated, others were missing entirely. There was a multitude of kitchen tables, a baffling number of cupboards and a variety of bedrooms... But no staircase. It reminded me of someone how had scanned the Burrow into a computer then gone mad with the cut, copy and paste options. It was bizarre and inconsistent.

I did find the gnomes that Bill had been looking for though. They'd made their home in the precarious and impossibly-balanced wall of cupboard doors on one side of the kitchen(s), throwing blackened utensils at me when I approached. I left them be and wandered around.

Whatever space I was in did not extend much further than the Burrow. Patches of land around the house had been subjected to the same cut, copy and paste effect, but after I went a few hundred metres, things got... Weird. As soon as I began to lose sight of the Burrow—which looked even more bizarre from the outside than normal—the world got blurred and hazy, light reflecting strangely. I decided to head back to the house rather than try my luck by wandering further.

In the far distance, farther than I dared even consider walking, the sky and horizon looked like an impressionist painting. A smear of colours and shades like every shade of sky had been mashed together. Directly above, there was no sky, only an undefined grey. There were several suns and moons hanging in various places on the sky, casting odd shadows.

And above all else, it was quiet. There was no wind to stir what few plants I could find—closer examination revealed those plants to be dead and brittle facsimiles regardless—and the only other living things were the gnomes, who occasionally clattered over something in their cupboards, but that was it. No birds singing, no redheads arguing. Just eerie silence.

I sat myself down at one of the kitchen tables and thought. Given how I got here, it seemed likely that I was put into a mirror world. It would, at the very least, explain the lack of living things—gnomes excluded, they were immigrants—and the lack of food. If this was some kind of magically-created space though, it wasn't like anything I'd read about. It was just a hypothesis, but I suspected that it was formed from the reflections in any reflective surface in the area. From all the reflections. Hence how there were large chunks of the house that were duplicated—especially the kitchen, where there were many shiny tools and surfaces—and also chunks missing—such as the staircases, which lacked any kind of mirror.

It was kind of fascinating. Almost fascinating enough to stop me from freaking out. I kept my face calm and kept thinking.

After a while, I started drumming my fingers, my hands, my feet. Random rhythms, occasionally trying to sing or hum a tune—those stopped quickly, swallowed by the lifeless quiet—almost anything to keep myself busy and not panicking. I fell still, another thought occurring to me.

If I was stuck in here, with no way out, then it probably counted as life-threatening danger, right? Definitely an excuse to use magic. Even discounting the fact that I was probably outside of the Ministry's ability to detect magic, and was close enough to the Burrow not to attract notice regardless... The point was that I was legally in the clear for trying to make my own way out. I drew my wand and began looking around again.

The alder, cloaking the heartstring of a blazing dragon, was a warm comfort in my hand. It was something solid, something dependable.

"Specialis Revelio."

Scarpin's Revelaspell offered few insights. Intended to reveal hidden or magical properties, it confirmed that the world I was surrounded by was a product of magic, but nothing usable. Undaunted, I continued to work my way around the house, pulling myself onto the higher floors with magic in order to explore them too.

There were no active spells in place on anything as far as I could tell, merely the signs of having been subject to a spell. As Bill had said, he'd been experimenting and the end result was far too complex for me to make head nor tail of. I took notes on what I could observe regardless, glad I still had my notebook from talking with Arthur.

My understanding of more complex kinds of magic was extremely limited and theoretical. As it stood, I doubted that a simple 'Finite Incantetum' would suffice to release me. I dared not even try, in case it undid the space I was trapped in and took me with it. If I was to have any hope of finding my own way out, I'd have to try and exploit the nature of the spells used. One of the few things I could remember from Bill's semi-random lectures about curse-breaking was that many of the more exotic curses often had flaws that could be used to protect yourself from them or undo them completely. Stuff like cursed plants shying from fire or magic fire being extinguished by the right kind of sand.

Things associated with mirrors... Light, images, reflections, truth... Maybe a few others. While I thought of it, though...

I stood again and moved into the middle of one of the kitchen areas. I suspected that one of the mirrors that had formed kitchens was the face of the Weasley's family clock. It was as good a place as any to start with if I were to go looking for sources. The place I stood in was formed from the 'sights' of many different mirrors stitched together. In other words, each one had a mirror missing, the one that created it.

It took a quarter of an hour, but I found an iteration of the Weasley kitchen that seemed to have been created from the view of the clock. Pointing at the general patch of air that corresponded with the clock face's location—Mrs Weasley rarely moved it. The later books, where it was carried around the house, were the exception rather than the rule—and cast Scarpin's Revelaspell again.

I guessed correctly. According to the spell, there was something there, in place of the clock. I studied it for a moment but released the spell. It wasn't anything intelligible to me. I could tell there was something special about it, but not what. More importantly, there was no flashing magic keyhole indicating what to do to get out. It was most vexing.

I kept experimenting. Various light, fire, and revealment spells produced no discernable change in my situation. If nothing else, it was giving me an excellent opportunity to practice my spellwork. According to my watch, I was trapped in the mirrors for several hours by this point, so I sat down and began working through spells from memory. Random bits of furniture proved viable targets.

My first-year spells were easy enough. My second-year spells were recalled without difficulty. I struggled a bit with the third-year spells, some of them not working and the details of others eluding my memory. Not that it bothered me that much, I would be covering them in a few months time. Then I started into my defensive spells, casting as fast and furiously as I could. Once I had turned most of the furniture to ruins, I sat down again. I was a bit tired but somewhat satisfied. Catharsis was good.

It wasn't all that bad, once I was used to the quiet. I could use magic freely and—unless someone had found a way to look in—privately. I was getting a bit hungry and thirsty, but I would survive for a while before I was at major risk of dying. In the meantime, Bill would have gone to his parents and if they were unable to get me out they'd have contacted the Ministry or Dumbledore. They'd get me out eventually.

I did hope that Bill wouldn't get in too much trouble. I was still going to hex him for not being more careful, but he'd created a most interesting result. Even if it was by accident.

I smiled, remembering the previous winter and our wars fought between frozen forts. That'd been fun. Exciting, thrilling, and enjoyable above all else. With a sigh, I tried one more spell out of habit. I hadn't gotten the hang of it yet, but I was hopeful that I could figure it out eventually.

"Expecto Patronum."

A glimmer of silvery light spurted from the tip of my wand, floating in the air like a mirage for a few moments before fading.

I bolted upright, eyes wide and trained on the spot where the proto-Patronus had been. Then I jammed my eyes shut and tried to remember what had just happened. Remembered the feel of the spell, what my focus was, what I was saying, how I was moving my wand, everything.

I brought up the memories of the snow and tried again. Another slight shimmer. I smiled.

I had it. I was a long way from mastering the spell, but I had a hold of the first rung on the ladder. Climbing was just a matter of practice. I located a more comfortable—intact—chair to sit on and began casting over and over. Nought but vapour came forth each time, but I fancied that it became a little stronger, lasting a little longer every time I tried.

Lost in silver lights and cold days, I didn't bother to track the time.

—tN—tN—tN—

In the end, the Weasleys were able to undo the spell themselves. It involved repairing the shattered mirror, then working through the spells on it one at a time and testing their interactions with each other. Once they'd figured it out—which took most of the rest of the day—it was apparently a relatively simple matter to undo the effect.

Inside the spell, it was a tad more dramatic. The world began to shimmer and separate. Different areas conjured from different mirrors came apart from one another, fading away until I was sitting in just a single kitchen surrounded by grey. I was in that state for about ten minutes before it too shattered and I found myself in the actual Weasley kitchen.

They had, I gathered, gone through every mirror in the area and repeated the spell until they found me again. Judging by the swearing of the younger siblings outside, they found the gnomes first.

Mrs Weasley was frantic, forcing me into a seat at the table, wrapping me in a blanker and all-but-imperiusing me into drinking a bowl of soup. Not that I was complaining about the latter part, I hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. Arthur was worried but quiet, spending his time hovering nearby and watching me closely. And Bill... Bill did not look good at all.

"Sorry, Poe, so sorry, dammit, I should have been more careful," he said, for the umpteenth time.

"It's alright, Bill," I said, in between mouthfuls of soup. The eldest Weasley sibling was seated across from me, his hands clenched together tight enough to pale his knuckles. His face was drawn and sweaty like he'd just run a marathon. I knew it was just an effect of being out of his mind with guilt and worry for hours on end, but it really didn't suit him. "I know you didn't mean that to happen and I know you'll be careful in future. Except that I will hex you once it won't trigger the Trace."

Bill choked out a laugh.

"That would be more of a threat if you were actually interested in the kinds of spells that hurt. You've told us over and over that you don't see the point of spells that just make people suffer."

"Well, I'm sure I'll figure something out. I have a while until we get back to Hogwarts, after all," I said, making sure to smile at him. I wasn't sure how convincing it was but it reassured him a bit. "And you have your own research to do in the meantime."

Bill frowned and tilted his head quizzically, his mouth beginning to frame a query before I continued.

"That spell you used. Or combination of spells, whatever. I want you to figure out how it works, how it can be cast, how it can be used safely. Then I need you to teach me it. Then we'll be even, deal?"

Bill looked at me like I'd lost my mind. In his defence, I was half-starved and parched. Possibly a bit battier than normal from being stuck in a pocket dimension all day. His parents seemed equally uncertain, swapping worried looks where they thought I couldn't see them. I ploughed on before they could interject.

"Think about it! You created a spell that would drop anyone into an enclosed space in an instant! Think of the applications it could have. And when it ended, I wasn't where I was before I vanished, I'd moved. It's some other kind of effect, like nothing I've heard about before. I've got to know how it works."

Bill snorted and immediately wiped the smirk of amusement that crossed his face.

"That's so like you, Poe. Just like last Christmas. You just got through the toughest obstacle course we could come up with, and were on the verge of frostbite and hypothermia and all you wanted to know was how we did it. I swear you'd call a time-out in the middle of a duel to the death, just to find out how an unusual curse works."

"That can wait, however," Molly said, cutting in and shooting a sharp glare at her eldest. "It took us all day to even find out if it could be undone. If we hadn't been able to then you would have been stuck there, Poe. So there'll be no more tinkering with that mirrors where anyone else might get caught in them, understand? I've half a mind to confiscate your wand until you go back to Hogwarts, William, so don't test my patience."

I let the Weasley matriarch intimidate Bill thoroughly and drank the last of the soup. I really had been hungry. Putting the bowl and spoon back on the table, I noticed my hands were shaking.

Now that I thought about it, that had been my first brush with actual danger, wasn't it? The Weasleys had been able to free me, but if they hadn't I would have been stuck. If Bill had done his cursework differently, there was even a risk I could have died.

Boneless, I sank back into my chair. I'd distracted myself at the time with spellwork and conjecture, but... Now, after the fact, I was terrified.

I made my trembling hands form fists.

I'd improve. Somehow.

I had to.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

School was a dance I had learned by rote by the time of my third year at Hogwarts. Go to class, do homework, go to Library, meet with the Weasleys, practice in the Room of Requirement, write letters, eat, sleep etcetera etcetera. Not necessarily all in that order. Months slipped by without incident. I had a reasonably good handle on my schoolwork—Arithmancy and Muggle Studies were a breeze with my experience with both maths and, well, being a Muggle—my own research and practice was progressing nicely—I was able to consistently produce an incorporeal Patronus—and Professor McGonagall had said she'd consider letting me begin work on the Animagus potion after Christmas.

All in all, things were going well. There were no nasty surprises—aside from the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who was even more interested in poisons than Snape was—whatsoever. Then November came around and frost had begun to crisp the ground. Then one of my few friends decided they were bored.

"Charlie, I have NEWTs to study for and Head Boy duties to carry out," Bill said through gritted teeth. "You know this. I know you know this. So why, pray tell, have you dragged us"—meaning him, myself and Percy—"out onto an icy Quidditch pitch. And why do you have that stack of broomsticks with you—no. Just no. That's not happening."

"C'mon, Bill," Charlie pleaded, deftly tossing a broom to the ground before each of us. "Lighten up a little. This'll be fun!"

"I don't have the time! I'm up to my neck in work and I'm fairly sure that Poe is too."

I made a silent note to work on hiding my tiredness better.

"Exactly! We all need a break. A breath of fresh air, a brisk bit of exercise. Nothing better to clear the head than a quick jaunt around the grounds, right?"

Bill started to argue back—or possibly just to snap at his brother and go back inside. I wasn't sure, I hadn't seen Bill this agitated before—but I shook my head.

"Charlie has a point," I said. "Muggles have done studies on it, I think. Getting in some exercise to get a break from working, I mean."

"See, even Poe wants to fly!" Charlie said, waving insistently at me. "And you know how much they hate flying."

I didn't reply to that and just stared at the broomstick. I hadn't been flying outside of school activities since my first year and never flew higher than I absolutely had to. My plans to overcome that particular fear had... They'd fallen by the wayside. I'd been distracted and busy. Now though...

"Up." The broomstick rose into my hand, jerking slightly mid-ascent. I swung a leg over it and checked to make sure my grip was right. Bill and Charlie stopped arguing to look at me. Percy still hadn't said anything. I actually thought he was a bit scared to see his brothers—both role models—fighting.

I kicked off from the ground and—slowly—guided my broom to about four metres in the air. After a bit of consideration and a few moments to gather my nerve, I inched my way up to six metres. Then I started flying a careful circuit of the Quidditch field.

Halfway through my first lap, Bill caught up with me.

"You know," he shouted "I seem to remember you being a bit less skittish than this. Did something happen."

I shook my head and immediately gripped my broom tighter, bringing it to a dead stop as it swerved slightly. Even with a bit of distance between us, I could hear Bill sighing.

"Look, Poe, you don't need to worry. Charlie and I know how nervous you are on a broom. We'll fly below you and catch you with a spell if you fall. We promise. You can take a few risks, it'll be okay."

I didn't reply in words. Instead, I managed to swivel my broom—in what had to be the most awkward turn in the history of the practice—to point away from the Quidditch stands. Charlie and Percy were hovering a distance above me, clearly more comfortable than me. I took a few deep breaths and urged my broom forwards.

Slowly at first, then faster and faster, I flew. Wind whipped through my hair and caught in my clothing, making loose flaps billow like balloons. The Weasley brothers, each and every one of them, zipped by me with ease. I ignored them and tried to keep calm. Grabbing onto the shaft, I pulled on it and shot higher than I'd ever gone before.

I heard one of the others laughing but couldn't tell which one. Didn't care which one. I had momentum and didn't want to stop. I levelled off at about the height of the Astronomy Tower and began circling the grounds. It was cold, the air thinner and forgiving.

Down below, when I chanced a glimpse away from dead in front of me, the castle's grounds were... They were nice enough, I supposed. The castle was a picturesque enough building in its own right. With its towers and crenellations and... Other structures I couldn't name, it looked like something from a fairytale. The grass around it was tinged with the silver of frost, but the Lake had not yet frozen over, becoming a deep blue-black in the midst of the shimmering ground. From the height I was at, Hagrid's hut looked like a toy and the Whomping Willow was hard to tell apart from other trees—except for when it began thrashing in response to some unseen invader.

"Nice view, isn't it?"

I started, my broom jolting and nearly unseating me. I hadn't heard Charlie approach me and, to his credit, he backed off sheepishly at my reaction.

"Sorry, sorry, shouldn't have startled you. But it is a nice view alright. Most people don't ever get the chance to go flying freely around the castle like this, but I thought you should see it at least once. I thought all of you should."

I thought for a moment and urged my broom a bit higher. It was easier somehow, now that the ground was so far beneath me. Hogwarts itself began to shrink slightly. It was still a huge building, but I could no longer make out the various windows along its walls. I continued circling, getting higher and higher. I only stopped at Charlie's shouted warning. I couldn't catch the details, but I gathered that it wasn't safe. Probably a limitation of the school brooms.

Coming to a stop, I hovered mostly in place, the world below mine to behold.

I'd been at this height before, in aeroplanes. From so high up, fields became patchwork quilts and towns were reduced to clusters of tiny boxes. People didn't even feature at all, unless in great numbers. Which made for a pretty cynical metaphor, now that I thought of it.

Bill waved to get my attention and gestured towards the ground. I had to agree. It was an awe-inspiring view, but it was getting colder and darker. A symptom of the winter. It was time to descend.

Recalling a few fragments of Madam Hooches classes—and a few snippets gleaned from the few Library books I'd perused on the subject—I adjusted my grip, tightened my legs, then pushed down on the handle.

I fell. Both myself and my wooden steed went vertical, headfirst towards the ground. My vision blurred and my breath caught in my throat, mouth shut tight on instinct. Struggling to focus, I waited until I was almost level with the top of the main Hogwarts building and pulled up on my broom, bringing myself out of the dive. Or I tried to. My broom jerked against my grip and came out of the straight descent, instead veering off to one side and twirling me about it.

Ground spun over sky over castle over ground and I forced myself to let go. Without having to grip my out-of-control broom, I scrambled for my wand, almost losing my grip.

"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"

The wind in my ears died down to a faint breeze and my plummet slowed to a gentle fall just in time for me to flop into the ground on one side. I winced and rolled back to my feet. I'd bruise, but no worse.

Above me someone was cackling—probably Charlie—and someone else was cussing quite creatively—likely Bill. I dropped back to the ground and waited for them to land. There was no point in trying to stay standing until my head stopped spinning. My eyes closed, I raised my wand and muttered "Accio out of control broomstick". With a thud, something hit the ground next to me, presumably the broom in question. I wasn't sure how much damage I'd done if any, but I figured it was better to have it on hand than lose it completely.

The Weasleys hit the ground nearby.

"Poe! Poe! Are you alright?" Percy near-shouted. "That—that was too reckless, you could have been killed! Are you hurt anywhere? Answer me if you can hear me?"

"Calm down, Perce," Charlie cut in, a touch of pride evident in his voice. "These brooms often go wonky on dives and Poe had no way of knowing that. They even pulled off a near-perfect recovery just before impact."

"Only barely though." This was Bill. "Poe, when I said we'd catch you if you fell, I wasn't expecting... That. Are you sure you're okay?"

Unbidden, I put together a subtext in Bill's question. 'Why did you just try to throw yourself into the ground?' I forced myself to sit up and open my eyes. Everything was still wobbling a bit, but it was good enough.

"Sorry about that," I said, trying to sound as contrite as I could. "Looking at the ground from so high... I kinda got a bit caught up in the moment. It didn't seem so hard, so I thought I'd give it a try..."

Bill sighed, in relief, despair or a mixture thereof, I didn't know. Charlie came forward and squatted next to me.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. A fair few fliers get similar impulses the first time they go that high. Most don't plunge straight into a dive like that though. To be honest, for a first-timer, your form wasn't terrible, but you completely lacked the control you'd need to pull it off safely. So, don't let me catch you doing that again until I've had a chance to teach you or I'll nail you to the ground with lead boots. You hear me?"

I nodded. My blood was still pumping with... Was this what an adrenaline rush felt like? I was tired, but also could barely sit still. It was weird and made my hands more jittery than usual. I lay back down and waited for the feeling to pass. My close brush with mortality would sink in later, but for the moment I was content to try and preserve as much of the memory as I could. To remind me that some things were worth living for, worth taking a chance on.

—tN—tN—tN—

I'd forgotten about Quirrel. Before assuming the post of the Defence teacher he'd already held a post at the school, namely that of the Muggle Studies teacher. He wore no turban, spoke clearly without the slightest lisp and was clearly highly knowledgeable about his subject.

Compared to his depiction—or rather, his facade—in the Philosopher's Stone, it was like they were two different people. Since I was on-guard from the start, I caught glimpses every now and then of what he'd become. A turn of phrase, a momentary flicker of an expression, an unusual response to a question. Little signs that he was far from satisfied with the post he held, that he longed hold greater power. Then again, that may just have been my foreknowledge colouring my perception of him.

In any case, the sheer irony of the idea that a Muggle Studies teacher would go on to become one of Riddle's most devoted servants was amusing enough that it balanced out the apprehension. I kept my head down in class, completing the assignments as well as I could but never asking questions or volunteering. Little risk thought there was, I'd prefer not to be on Quirrel's radar in any way, shape, or form.

—tN—tN—tN—

I wondered every now and then how they saw me.

Not Dumbledore, who knew the truth. Not the Weasleys, who knew me. But the others. My teachers, my classmates, the ones who never saw beyond the outermost of my masks.

I spoke little, except to answer questions when called upon. I didn't interact with others outside of bare necessity and always had my head buried in a book or bent over an open notebook. Did they think me a bookworm? An antisocial 'loser'?

I wasn't bullied, not really. I was fairly sure that I was too quiet to be worth the bother. Besides, bullying a known associate of the Head Boy and his Prefect younger brother was a more dangerous prospect than most were willing to venture on.

I did passably in my classes. I excelled in Transfiguration and Charms. My potions were consistently deemed to be acceptable by Snape—which was as good as a row of gold stars from any other teacher. I scraped by in most of my other subjects, never at the top of the class but far from the bottom. Defence was the anomaly. Without a consistent teacher to evaluate performance properly, nobody was really sure where anyone else stood. I was fairly certain that I was doing better than most even there though, if only by dint of my out-of-hours practice.

I didn't play Quidditch. I wasn't part of any of the Clubs—though if someone tried to restart the Duelling Club again, that'd be a different story. I didn't hang out in my common room. I was almost less a part of everyday Hogwarts life than the ghosts. I variably haunted the Library—where more attention was given to books than people—the Room of Requirement—which few knew existed—and a select few unused classrooms suitable for practicing in.

Most of the staff seemed to like me, not that unexpected. I was a polite and bright student who didn't cause trouble and often showed interest in the subjects beyond what was covered in the exams. They didn't see me having to catch my breath, slumped against a wall, after staying back to ask them about something I'd found in the library. They didn't know—though perhaps they suspected—about the sleepless hours spent sifting through thick tomes and scribbling barely-legible notes to be examined at full wakefulness.

It was a bad habit of mine, to conceal the burdens I carried to preserve the mask of one who could rule the world—a bit of a melodramatic way of considering it, but apt. Particularly from those best-placed to ease my load. And there was one burden that I could pass onto none. None save for Dumbledore. My past was a secret shared by two and no more.

For the moment, anyway. Perhaps at some point in the distant future, when things were peaceful again and there was someone I could trust... But that was fanciful thinking. A hypothetical.

My origins were likely the second-biggest obstacle to bridge in attempting to relate to my 'peers'—the biggest being my own anxieties that had carried over from my previous life. I was decades older—mentally and emotionally—than any of the other students. I had 'seen' things played out that they would only ever know of through corrupted half-rumours. I knew things they never would, never could. My sense of scale and proportion for so many things was different to them. They fretted about exams and jobs and Quidditch—topics that, Quidditch aside, I should rightly be more concerned with than I was—where I could dwell only on the price of failure. The price of blood that would be paid if I made a mistake, forgot something vital. A price that—regardless of who paid it—would be too high.

And so I studied and smiled and scribbled away for all to see and none to notice. Inside, I was sobbing. And where nobody else could see me, I worked and plotted and schemed. Hogwarts carried on, oblivious. All was as it should be.

—tN—tN—tN—

A hedgehog settled onto the table as a picture-perfect pincushion. McGonagall looked on approvingly.

After the Christmas holidays had ended, she'd sent an owl asking me to come to her office for a few hours on the first Saturday of the term. Once there, she'd began testing me on my practical and theoretical knowledge. I'd easily demonstrated my mastery of the third-year material, so she'd moved on to examining me on the fourth-year curriculum instead.

She'd never actually told me to study ahead, so I guessed that it also served as a test of my commitment to studying beyond the strict letter of the course. Someone only do the bare minimum needed to get by—as I was doing in several of my other subjects—could not be considered suitable to attempt the Animagus transformation.

"Very good," McGonagall said, a rare smile crossing her face. "And now, if I could direct your attention to the next desk"—she gestured towards two covered cages, whose occupants were revealed as a rabbit and a cat—"then I would like you to exchange the ears, noses and eyes of these two animals in one spell."

Cross-Species Switching spells were one of the more advanced topics on the fourth-year course, for all that it used only existing features. Nonetheless, Bill had coached me through them at the start of the year and before long I was left with a very confused looking lapine and feline. Once McGonagall had given her approval I switched them back. It always felt a bit awkward to experiment on random animals like that.

"Very good indeed. I must say, young Poe, you've more than lived up to the promise you showed. At your current rate, I can't imagine you having much trouble with your OWL examinations." McGonagall strode away from the desk holding the animals—one of many set up throughout the room—to the clear desk at the head of the room, before seating herself and beckoning me to sit opposite her in a just-conjured chair.

"Thank you, Professor," I said. "I've been trying my best. To be honest, there are still a few things that don't quite make sense and I'm not sure I'd have been able to keep up without Bill's help..."

"I think you'll find that your definition of 'keeping up' fits most people's definition of 'over-achieving'. And while I appreciate your honesty in not hiding the areas you feel you are deficient in, I do not believe that will be an impediment. First, however, I will require you to perform one last spell."

She reached into her pocket and deposited a once-handsome, now-worn, eagle-feather quill on the desk.

"Kindly duplicate this for me. Please do not damage to original in any way."

The Doubling Charm—a confusingly-named spell if there ever was one—was covered in the OWL year of Transfiguration. If it was the only spell she was planning to test me on beyond fourth-year, then I was lucky. Of the other possibilities, I still struggled with Vanishing and transfiguring eyewear. Doubling was something I did have a reasonable amount of confidence in. I focused for a moment before bringing my wand down on the quill, tapping it gently.

"Geminio."

The feather blurred for a moment before a twin popped into existence next to it. I held my breath and examined them both. That the duplicate didn't disappear immediately was a good sign and I didn't see any obvious differences or changes between the two quills, so hopefully, it would be enough to satisfy Professor McGonagall—

"Excellent. A perfect fine-detail duplication if I've ever seen one. I know we're not in class, but take ten points regardless. You've earned them."

I flushed slightly. I tended to accumulate a modest but steady amount of points throughout the year by virtue of diligent work and an adherence to the rules. Well, most of the rules. At the very least, I'd never been caught breaking any rules, which was the important part.

McGonagall sat back in her chair and fixed me with an uncomfortable stare. She wasn't angry, nor was there any sign of the satisfaction she'd shown moments before. It was more like she was analysing me, breaking me down piece by piece, planning how to take my ever component and twist them around into something entirely different. I resisted the urge to fiddle with my wand under her scrutiny. Now was not the time for poor self-control.

"What is the first step in creating an Animagus potion?" she said, the question breaking the silence without warning. I blinked and gaped for a moment before pulling the answer from my studies.

"It's a mandrake leaf, I think?"

"Are you asking or telling me?"

"Telling. But it can't go in as is. It has to be prepared... By being held in the mouth for a month? Yes, from one moon to the next."

"Good. What is the main incantation that has to be performed on the potion and how regularly must it be cast?"

"It's 'Amato Animo Animato Animagus' and it has to be cast at sunrise and sunset every day once the potion has been made." I almost tripped up before I caught the trick question. "Except that it isn't cast on the potion. The caster must have their wand directed at their heart."

"And how does an Animagus discover their form?"

"By drinking the completed potion during a lightning storm after using the spell one last time. There is no sure way of knowing what form they will take before that. Although..."

"Yes?"

"There is some degree of correlation between the animal form of an Animagus and the shape taken by their corporeal Patronus, but it's not guaranteed. If I remember correctly, the leading theory is that they're both determined by similar personality characteristics. And neither can be wilfully chosen."

"Excellent insight." Professor McGonagall smiled and raised her own wand. "Expecto Patronum."

As a silvery cat sprang onto the desk, the witch who conjured it shrank and leapt onto the surface beside it. As I'd expected, they were near-identical in size and markings, save that one was picked out in silvery light. After a moment, the Patronus faded and Professor McGonagall, sprang back into her chair and resumed her human form.

"May I ask if you have, by any chance, produced a corporeal Patronus, Poe?" she said, brows quirking. I suspected that she was actually curious about whether I had or not.

"Not yet, ma'am. I can consistently produce an incorporeal Patronus, but I'm having difficulty progressing beyond that. I think I may lack the level of experience needed to materialise one at the moment."

"I see. Nonetheless, that is admirable progress. Did Messrs Weasley teach you that one? Though I wasn't aware that they had actually touched on that particular Charm in their studies... Defence has a somewhat erratic reputation, after all."

"No, Professor," I said, hesitating for a moment. "I practiced it myself, from books. I... I read about Dementors and wanted to have something. Just in case."

"Quite understandable. There's no shame in being afraid of those loathsome creatures and even less in being prepared to fight back." She smiled gently and reached across the table to pat my hands, which had clenched around my wand without my noticing. "Those who can manifest a fully corporeal Patronus are in the minority. If, or rather, when you succeed in doing so, there is a useful trick I can teach you to let it carry messages."

I was already aware of that particular application but as I suspected that it was supposed to be a secret reserved for members of the Order of the Phoenix, I schooled my face into an expression of interest. Even though I was already working on equally secure and more versatile forms of communication. Ones that didn't require lighting a beacon over the location of the recipient.

"For the moment though, I deem your knowledge and abilities to be sufficient to attempt the brewing of the potion. I will supply you with the equipment you will need, along with what ingredients do not demand special collection methods. Those you shall have to acquire yourself, under my supervision. To be clear, you will inform me of every detail that may affect the potion, no matter how small. The margin for error is such that a single mistake may have catastrophic and irreversible consequences. Moreover, you will not attempt any part of the process without my consent.

"The potion is very sensitive to timing and environmental factors. The unfortunate fact of the matter is that there is little we can do about those. There will be attempts that will fail not through any error on your part but from the whims of the weather. You will likely have to make dozens of attempts before you achieve a satisfactory result. It will not be easy. It may very well take until after you finish your studies here at Hogwarts, in which case other accommodations will have to be made. I know you've done your research, I know that you are aware of the consequences of failing to approach this with all due caution. As such, I will respect you enough not to try and impress them upon you once more.

"If you truly wish to do this, to start on the road to becoming an Animagus, to shedding your form as freely and easily as thinking, then sign here and I will do everything in my power to bring you to success."

McGonagall pulled a roll of parchment from her robes and unfurled it on the table before me. She set the quill she'd had me duplicate earlier—the conjured copy had faded by now—beside the parchment along with a bottle of ink.

I took my time reading the scroll. It was a form from the Ministry of Magic, declaring the intent of a witch or wizard to become an Animagus and certifying that they would comply with all Ministry guidelines and regulations in the process. Professor McGonagall had already placed her signature as my mentor and Albus had given his seal of approval to allow one of his students to attempt such a dangerous spell.

I had already done my thinking. I signed my name. McGonagall gave another one of her not-as-rare-as-they-used-to-be smiles.

"Congratulations, Poe. It will be my pleasure to have you as a student. I will call you here again when it's time to make the first attempt."

I left the room drained but excited. Finally, I was able to feel like things were moving, changing, instead of just treading in place. It was a good feeling.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Third-year ended, the Defence teacher swallowed one of their own poisons and the summer holidays passed with little incident. Bill graduated with honours and had secured a job with Gringotts. His letters regaled me with anecdotes gleaned from more experienced Curse Breakers and hinted at what he might be working with. I tucked them away in plastic pockets and did my best not to forget about them.

Percy and Charlie were in touch less frequently. Percy was undoubtedly preparing for his monstrous workload in the upcoming year—if my memory served me correctly, he was another Time-Turner recipient—while Charlie had managed to tag along with the Ministry office responsible for monitoring dragons.

I didn't visit the Burrow that summer. I was too busy to consider plunging into the homely chaos that was the Weasley steadhold. Besides, I'd have more contact with the Weasleys than ever before in the new school year, with the arrival of the twins to Hogwarts. I added a note to try and curb the twins more ruthless prank ideas to my ever-growing to-do list.

All too quickly, the summer months blurred past in a mix of letters, work and study, like the view from a train hurtling at full speed down a track. And then I was on just such a train, coming home to Hogwarts again.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Did you have a good summer, Professor?"

McGonagall gave a wan smile. We were meeting in her office again like we had done many times the previous year. On her desk was a phial with a new mandrake leaf, ready for my third attempt at brewing the Animagus potion.

"It was quite satisfactory, thank you. And yourself?"

"Busy. Lot of time reading and working."

"Working?"

"I'm trying to scrape together some savings for when I leave school. I don't really have much and I don't want to rely on charity..." My feet scuffed at the ground as I fidgeted. I didn't like bringing up my background if I could help it, not least because I always felt like a liar to talk about the children's home and not mention my previous life. It didn't make sense, but it still bugged me.

"Excellent diligence and foresight," McGonagall said, her expression turning sympathetic and.. Understanding? Just for a moment, then she was all business again. "Now then, onto the matter at hand. Your efforts at the Animagus potion were satisfactory last year and I see no reason not to continue your efforts this year so long as you keep up your grades. Do you wish to continue?"

I nodded assent and she pushed the phial over to me. I waited until she nodded her approval then popped the mandrake leaf into my mouth and pushed it to one side so it rested between my gum and my cheek. It tasted disgusting, like usual.

"Very good. Make sure to be careful and notify me of anything that may impact the process. In a month's time, weather permitting, we can attempt the next phase."

Soggy leaf in mouth, I thanked the Professor for her time and made my way out of her office. I had another appointment to keep.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Is there a reason you wanted to meet me up here, Profe—Albus?"

'Here' was—in this case—the top of the Astronomy tower. While far from the most private place in the castle, it did have the benefit of only having one easily-monitored entrance. And the view from the top at sunset was quite impressive.

"An old man's whimsy, Poe. Please forgive me my eccentricities," Albus said, smiling genially. "As you quite rightfully wish to avoid being seen in my office where possible, there are a limited number of locations in which to meet undisturbed. But enough of that. How are you doing, Poe? I gather your Animagus work is coming along well?"

"It's going alright," I said, prodding the cheek that hid the mandrake leaf. "This is my third attempt and probably not my last."

"Regretfully likely, I'm afraid. Alas, we do not place the same emphasis on the transfiguration of the self as our brethren in Uganda. There I believe it is not uncommon for students to acquire the skill by your age. Nonetheless, I have faith in your ability and perseverance. I know Minerva must as well, else she would not be still teaching you."

I shrugged awkwardly. I'd read about Uagadou, the African school of magic hidden in the Mountains of the Moon and been intrigued by the differences between their curriculum and that of Hogwarts. A part of me longed to travel to all the different schools and learn all they had to teach me but I was rather firmly rooted in Hogwarts by many factors. The unwillingness of many such institutions to entertain foreign guests being foremost among them.

"Thank you, Albus. Aside from my extra-curricular lessons with Professor McGonagall, I'm still working on my own projects. No major breakthroughs yet, but I've figured out some stuff that I just need to find a way to combine. Still haven't mastered the Patronus Charm though, sorry." I cast about for any other news I may have that Albus may find of interest. It was a lot like dealing with one of my parents, albeit without as much pressure or judgement. "The Weasley twins have pestered me a few times for tips on getting around the castle without being caught. I'm not sure where they got the impression that I do that much sneaking, but they seem convinced that I'm an expert."

"I rather suspect that your methods of stealth, whereby you contrive to always belong in the area you wish to enter and consequently go unquestioned, would not be amenable to the twins," Albus said, chuckling quietly. I wanted to refute that I'd done such a thing, but... I did tend to use appointments with teachers or with Bill to wander into the Room of Requirement or a few of the other private chambers in the Castle.

"Regardless, they're moderately pleasant to deal with. Hopefully, I can convince them to refrain from some of the more... Dangerous endeavours that I can remember."

"Ah yes, we're drawing closer to the true start of your knowledge, aren't we?" Albus mused. "In just two years time, Harry will be walking off that train and into this school... When he comes, do you intend to talk to him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps not to reveal the extent of your knowledge of him, but to guide him perhaps? To befriend him? You are quite a talented young student and I'm sure you could impart quite a lot of benefit to him, both in wisdom and magic."

I tossed the thought around my head for a few moments before shaking my head dismissively.

"No, I won't approach him. If for some reason he comes to me for help then I'll try to accommodate him, but I won't initiate anything. Not unless I see something very badly wrong. It'd feel... Awkward."

"I see, that does make sense," Albus said, long beard swaying as he nodded. "You are not the most social of creatures after all. There is much to be said for your admirable patience, however. Please, do not hold your tongue any longer. Ask whatever is on your mind."

I sighed and tried to go through the motions of Occlumency. It was likely that Albus wasn't even using Legillimency, but it was a good habit to be in.

"How are things going? With the plans, I mean?"

"Ah, on that front I have many items of good news!" Albus said, a genuine smile breaking out. "I have secured the trust and ear of Amelia Bones and convinced Rufus Scrimgeour enough to earn his cooperation. Between them, it is likely that Sirius may be released within the year, though he will likely require considerable investigation and therapy before his innocence is confirmed and he is declared mentally stable."

"I think he was only as functional as he was last time because he had a distinct objective in mind, catching Pettigrew." I nodded. "So long as he was working towards catching him, he could keep himself together enough for him to readjust slightly. He was still a bit cracked though, I think. Though that may have just been his normal self, given the stories of his youth that I've heard."

"Indeed. Regardless, he should be able to meet with Harry without too much of a delay. And that is not a reunion that I wish to delay any longer than necessary. On other news, our negotiations with Gringotts are ongoing. While I am still considering entering the Lestrange vault by force, I've been assured by Madam Bones that there is a precedent for situations like this. You were quite right in insisting I share that particular piece of information with the Ministry, by the way. I'm afraid I'd grown far too used to secrecy. As it stands, I do not believe that either Madam Bones or Rufus are likely to divulge anything carelessly."

"In the original timeline, they both died defying Riddle," I said, voice soft. "Scrimgeour, in particular, was the Minister at the time and took Harry's location to the grave."

"I see," Albus said, similarly sombre. "That is as definitive a proof of their strength of character as we are likely to get, I believe. Regardless, we will have possession of the Cup one way or another by the time Harry enters Hogwarts. Of that I'm sure."

"We have the Diadem already," I said, listing the Horcruxes out on my fingers. "We'll have to wait for Lucius Malfoy to use the Diary. Getting the Locket will be easiest with Sirius's cooperation. The Cup will take a while. And... You did secure the Ring, didn't you? I can't remember exactly."

"I did," Dumbledore promised. "However strong the temptation, I was able to secure it without taking the injuries I did last time. And that brings us to the last Horcrux and the most troublesome one."

"Almost last," I corrected him. "Technically there will be another one, likely made from a snake, that hasn't been made yet. But yes, Harry will be the most dangerous one."

We both fell silent. There was nothing to be said. We knew the circumstances that would give Harry a chance at surviving, knew the gamble that we would have to take. The alternative did not bear thinking about. If Dumbledore's research had turned up any possibilities, then that would have been the first topic of discussion, I knew.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in streaks of brilliant purple and pink. The view from the Astronomy Tower really was fantastic. I could almost imagine I was on a broom again, hurtling toward my destination without a care in the world. Feeling nothing but the rush of wind and thrill of exhilaration.

But humans were not designed for flight and all broom riders must someday land. I no longer feared heights in the same way and dreaded the moment that the sky would be closed to me and I was forced to tread in the mud once more. We were just dreaming, Albus and I. We plotted and planned and predicted. We toiled to make those dreams a reality, to set a stage that would not permit our nightmares to play. But a time would come when things were no longer in the abstract when a dark decision we had no right to make would have to be made.

We stayed and watched the sunset for a while longer.

—tN—tN—tN—

I was dragged out to Quidditch matches every now and then by Charlie, never quite enjoying them but humouring him anyway. To be perfectly honest, I wouldn't have minded the opportunity to observe a Triwizard Tournament. Displays of magical power and raw cunning were far more interesting than any kind of sport.

I relented and told the Twins about a few of the secrets I found around the castle—in my defence, searching for hidden rooms was good practice for some of the spells I found—and gave them some pointers on spellwork. Especially in Defence.

The latest in the long line of Defence Against the Dark Arts professors was moderately competent but was distinctly off-putting for some reason. He was eventually caught rooting through the Artefact room for items to steal and sell on. He may have gotten away with it except that he somehow stumbled upon a concealed compartment containing a rather fine set of gloves. Cursed gloves that distorted his body after putting them on and changing his thievery into an illogical obsession. By the time Dumbledore restrained him and removed the gloves, he no longer even looked human.

He was in Mungo's now, with a cell in Azkaban waiting for him whenever he recovered. I would have more sympathy if various students' belongings—including several treasured keepsakes—hadn't been found in his office.

That was the 'high' point of the year. Aside from that, I failed to brew the Animagus potion five more times, the last of which failed at the last step. Professor McGonagall was didn't bat an eye and congratulated me on doing as well as I had. With a bit of luck, I'd manage to complete the potion in time for my OWLs, which would be a nice bonus towards my Transfiguration grade.

Not that I needed much of an extra boost in my spellwork subjects. A few months into my fourth year, I made a breakthrough at the end of a prolonged training session in the Room of Requirement.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Alohomora."

The chest lid swung open and released a grand total of eight bludgers. I'd practiced against that number before, each time taking over a quarter of an hour to subdue all of them. Now I was making my third attempt of the evening at attempting to complete the task in under ten minutes.

"Impedimenta! Stupefy! Arresto Mometum! Ventus! Glacius!"

I was faster now, my wand tracing out the spells as fast as I could call them. Slightly faster, if I was being honest. My motor skills were still generally poor, but I managed to burn the required wand motions for a number of spells into them, one at a time. And now it was paying dividends.

Three of the bludgers avoided my spells, but one dropped dead out of the air and another was trapped in a block of ice. On instinct, I cast "Protego!" conjuring a shield—now a solid dome rather than a flimsy wall—just in time to deflect a quartet of hammer blows. The bludgers broke off and circled around me instead of pursuing their attack. They had learned by this point that they could not break my shield. On the other hand, they also knew that I'd have to lower the barrier at some point if I wanted to stop them, which was the opening they were waiting for.

Ultimately, turtling up behind my shield and only dropping it briefly to take potshots was the safest and easiest way fo dealing with so many targets. It was also utterly pointless.

It was a slow strategy that sometimes took over half an hour to bear fruit. The bludgers didn't actually have any openings to exploit either. They didn't get tired or bored while waiting for the shield to drop. And in an actual fight—which I was supposed to be preparing for—my shield would be far from invincible, no matter how stalwart the casting. I had to be faster, more flexible.

I dropped the shield. The bludgers dived.

"Ventus!"

I directed the spell not out but down, spinning the conjured gale into a storm that buffeted in all direction save for up, the force of the wind now strong enough to drastically slow the bludgers even with an indirect hit. The attacking bludgers aborted their runs as they were caught in the spell. All but the one that I predicted was directly above me, out of the spell's area of effect. I flicked my wand around, sending the gust upwards just in time to throw the incoming bludger against a wall with a resounding crack.

"Glacius! Impedimenta! Stupefy! Protego! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"

I took out the deflected bludger before being beset by the others. And then I was into a familiar game of dancing and darting around five different flight paths, trying to anticipate them enough to tag them as they went past. I was still too slow. My reflexes were enough to track them, but not fast enough to cast a spell before they were gone.

The clock ticked by. At the five minute mark, I'd failed to disable any further bludgers. I even took a few glancing blows from them to my left forearm and shin. They didn't hurt, but it was a useful reminder that reckless strategies had their consequences. I slashed my wand again and again, tracing through the same spell so fast it was a blur.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Studefy—"

My tongue slipped and the resulting misfire turned my vision into a field of dark spots and threw me against the nearest wall.

I rolled to one side to avoid another bludger and picked myself up, resisting the urge to cast another Shielding Charm. I raised my wand again and set aside my frustration. I focused on nothing but the five darting targets, tracking their erratic paths.

"Stupefy. Stupefy. Stupefy."

I tagged another one, leaving me with only four. I moved away from the wall, spinning and ducking to keep them in sight.

"Stupefy. Stupefy. Stupefy. Stupefy."

It was maddening. Taking my time casting was more reliable than just firing off as fast as I could, but it was also too slow. There were less than two minutes remaining and the last few were determined to avoid capture.

"Stupefy. Stupefy. Stupefy. Stupefy."

 _Stupefy_.

I'd been focusing so intently on everything. Every nuance of every syllable of the incantation. Every last motion of the wand movement. Somewhere in the middle of casting, something clicked and I was no longer forcing the spell out. It just clicked. Stupefy.

A red jet of sparks shot out of my wand without a word crossing my lips. It missed, of course, but that was beside the point. The game no longer mattered. The time limit was irrelevant. All that mattered was whether or not I could do it again. And again. Until I could do it every time.

I engaged the bludgers with a grin on my face. I looked absurd, no doubt. Half the time, I brandished my wand to absolutely no effect but then, as the pieces began to fit into place again, they came faster and faster. Silent Stunning spells. No speaking required, no risk of a stutter or slip of the tongue messing up the spell.

I brought down the last bludger eighteen seconds after the twelve minute mark. But that was alright. Next time would be different.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Charlie was doing his NEWTs and had apologetically ended our regular study sessions. I wasn't too upset, I'd known that they'd have to end when Charlie graduated. While Percy had tagged along with the rest of us, ou personalities and learning styles differed on a few key points, such that continuing without someone else being present as a moderating factor was futile. Needless to say, the twins were not willing to be that moderating factor.

And so I was reduced to studying by myself and had lost one of my few regular forms of social interaction. The only bright side to the incident was that my Potions work—the original reason for the tutoring sessions—had advanced to the point where I was able to keep afloat without the personal tutelage of a more experienced potioneer. And, as an OWL student in good standing with Professor Snape with a flawless disciplinary record, I was permitted to brew my own potions outside of class provided I took all necessary safety precautions. I made a point of taking a number of unnecessary ones as well, just to be safe.

There was no Dolores Umbridge in my fifth year. As a matter of fact, our teacher was an immensely competent ex-Auror from an unidentified foreign country—their accent was distinctly Irish with an unidentified twang, likely the place they'd learnt the language—whose sole oddity was in wearing gloved, a long-sleeved overcoat, a hat and a scarf at all times, leaving only the barest strip of dark skin on their face. I had a bad feeling that whatever they were hiding would be their undoing, but put my suspicions aside in order to focus on enjoying the tutelage of a competent teacher for a change.

As I'd suspected, my ability to silently cast spells with accuracy during combat, combined with an encyclopedic knowledge of dark creatures and curses—I read a lot, and some stuff seemed to stick—placed as one of the best in my year at the subject. I didn't place too much value in grades... But I still felt a twinge of pleasure at being handed back an assignment with an O and being awarded a score of house points regularly.

I was going to miss Professor Madadin whenever they were forced to leave.

—tN—tN—tN—

It was late January when I entered the Great Hall at breakfast and the ceiling was flashing with sparks of plasma. Breakfast, I decided, could wait, and I went to find Professor McGonagall.

After carrying a mandrake leaf for a straight month, finishing on a full moon, it must be spat into phial lit by the light of the moon. Two of my attempts at brewing the Animagus potion had been foiled by clouds on the night of the full moon.

Once that obstacle was navigated, I had to add one of my hairs, a silver teaspoon of dew (harvested before sunrise and untouched by human feet), and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk moth. Then the actual brewing part was technically complete and the potion was stored in a quiet, dark place where it would be completely undisturbed.

While the potion waited, the brewer—me, in this case—must say the incantation "Amato Animo Animato Animagus" with their wandtip over their heart at sunrise and sunset each day, without fail. Missing sunset or sunrise had foiled several more of my attempts.

This continued every day until it was time to complete the process. On the day of a lightning storm, the incantation was to be said one final time before downing the potion in a large, secure space.

My most recent try had come within literal minutes of success when the storm quieted just moments before I was to drink the potion. Professor McGonagall had hexed the potion out of my hand when she realised what had happened, just to make sure I didn't drink it before she could get her warning through.

There was another storm raging now though, and this would have to be it.

—tN—tN—tN—

I met Professor McGonagall coming down the main staircase.

"Professor," I called, heedless of the other students passing by whose attention was caught by my shout. "The weather! It's lightning!"

The Professor caught my meaning in an instant, her eyes widening and a vicious grin breaking across her face. The students who had stopped to watch our exchange found themselves something else to busy themselves with at the sight.

"Quickly then, before it passes! Where did you put the potion?"

Both of us forgoing breakfast, I lead Professor McGonagall up a succession of staircases at a near-sprint.

"Where the devil did you put the thing, Poe? This is nowhere near the dormitories!" McGonagall said, frowning out the window at the still-crackling storm.

"There's a secret room I knew of that was perfect," I said as we turned into the seventh-floor corridor. Hoping that Professor McGonagall wouldn't ask any questions about what the room was or how I'd come to find it, I beckoned her to stand back while I paced back and forth thrice, wishing each time for the room in which I'd placed the potion. The Room of Requirement revealed itself and I pushed open the door to reveal a wide near-empty room with a pair of tall windows looking over the grounds in the far wall and a sturdy cabinet between them.

Drawing my wand, I quickly examined the spells I'd placed in the Room to detect if anyone else had happened upon this particular iteration since I'd last opened it. They were undisturbed and I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

"What is this place?" McGonagall said behind me, astonishment as plain as the lightning outside. "And what possessed you to risk putting your potion here, so far away from where you can easily monitor it?"

"I'll explain the details of the Room of Requirement later, Professor, we're on a clock at the moment." I hurried over to the cabinet and began working through the locking charms I'd put on it. "But in answer to the second part, I have several good reasons. The main one being that my last attempt nearly ended in disaster both because I took so long to retrieve the potion from its hiding place and move to a suitable space for consumption and because I didn't realise that the storm had calmed until you blasted the phial from my hand. Thanks again, by the way."

"My pleasure," McGonagall said, the response automatic as she watched me silently undo the defences with an arched brow.

"Given that, the obvious solution seemed to be to store the potion in a secure place large enough to drink it in with a view of the weather outside. Almost nobody knows about this room and even those that do are unlikely to be able to disturb my potion once it's hidden here. So, it seemed more or less perfect."

The final security measure was the handle of the cabinet itself, enchanted to have a flesh memory like a golden snitch. It turned in my grasp and revealed the potion within. Also within was a clear glass bauble that clouded and crumbled within moments. A final sensor to alert me if anyone had opened or disturbed the cabinet.

"And before you ask, I cleared it with Professor Dumbledore and he said it should be perfectly safe to use the potion after it's been stored in here."

"Well, if Albus has approved," McGonagall muttered, mollified by the mention of her own mentor. Her eyes settled on the phial. "So then, you remember the last steps?"

"Chant the incantation one last time, then drink the phial," I said, the process burned into my memory through sheer repetition.

"Very good. I'll move to the doorway so you'll have space."

While McGonagall hurried to the entrance, glancing over her shoulder at the clouds outside every few seconds, I moved to the middle of the room and took a few steadying breaths. First I raised my wand and brought it to bear on my heart and said—for what I hoped was the last time—"Amato Animo Animato Animagus!". Then, double-checking the weather was still tempestuous, I uncorked the phial and brought it to my lips.

I turned to smile at the Professor, saluting her awkwardly with my wand. Then I tilted my head back and downed the phial.

At the very moment I swallowed, the sky lit up with a blinding bolt that painted the Room in shades of black and white, the thunder reaching us even through the charms I'd cast for sound-proofing. All extremely dramatic.

The potion itself didn't have any particular taste. Instead, it was more a sensation of something moving down my gullet, something long, cold, and smooth. It slid smoothly down into my very core, where it curled up and then spread out.

Pins and needles, waves of hot and cold, ran up my limbs and I dropped to the floor. The sensation spread out and out, heating up all the while. It pervaded every part of me from my toes to my fingers to the top of my scalp. Within heartbeats, it had replaced all parts of me, a blinding boiling heat bubbling just under my skin.

Then it cooled, shrinking back down again. Only this time it brought my body with it. My body collapsed in on itself in an instant, my head and extremities melting down and reforming into something entirely new.

I was tired like I'd just finished a triathlon in a firesuit. I let my head lie on the ground, eyes shut. I could tell I'd changed but didn't have the energy to see what had happened. The ground shook under my skull as Professor McGonagall approached.

"Poe, wake up. Respond, even if you're tired. Just a twitch of a wing will do."

Wing? I must have turned into some kind of bird. That was cool. I guessed I didn't have to worry about heights anymore.

I tried to move what had been my right hand and felt the new limb shift. The joints and muscles were all different, so I didn't try and make it do anything. What I did was enough for Professor McGonagall though. I heard a sigh of relief and a muttered incantation.

The world twisted inside out as I was forced back into my human shape, leaving me gasping on the floor, propped up by my knees and elbows.

"I'd forgotten how tiring this was... Here, let me help you up."

A hand gripped my shoulders, guiding me up. I followed the insistent tugging, letting it pull me to my feet. My vision was blurry and distorted, even though I had my glasses on.

"Ah, we should probably take you to the Hospital Wing for a checkup, just in case. Poppy will be most vexed. Regardless, Poe, congratulations."

The remaining hand on my shoulders—one of them had transferred to my left arm at some point—squeezed tight for a moment.

"You did it after two years of work. You're an Animagus."

Most of me was too busy remaining on my feet. But the rest of me was beaming with pride.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Show us, show us," Fred begged me. Or I thought it was Fred. I was bad enough at putting names to faces even without those faces being identical.

"Alright, alright," I said, giving into the pleading.

Just like in his OWL year, Charlie had decided that going out for a quick jaunt around the sky was a good form of stress relief made better by company. Specifically by the company of myself, Percy and his younger twin brothers.

It was warmer than the last time I'd gone flying with Charlie, thought the sky was still overcast and drab. This time I'd needed no encouragement to take my broom high and even tried a few dives under Charlie's supervision and tutelage. The swooping sensation it engendered was still discomfiting, but it was far more familiar than it used to be and I was no longer letting myself accept it as an excuse.

After half an hour of flying though, we'd stopped to hover over the Lake in a rough circle. At which point the twins had taken to badgering me about seeing my Animagus form. I didn't actually have any objection to showing them—transforming was a pleasant rush now, unlike my initial change—but their nagging quickly grated on my ears. I double-checked my altitude before calling to Charlie.

"Keep an eye on my broom and catch me if it looks like I'm not going to change in time, 'kay?"

Charlie responded with a thumbs up and I let myself fall backwards off my broomstick.

I twisted in midair so I was falling on my front before willing myself to change, to shift into my other skin. In under a heartbeat, my body was gone, consumed by feathers as I rose back over the now-whooping Weasleys in the body of a raven. The irony of someone called 'Poe' turning into a raven had not escaped me, no.

I swooped around the broomsticks, flapping my wings every now and then to stay aloft, and enjoyed the sensation of flying under my own power. For all that it was slower than flying by broomstick, nor could I fly as high, I enjoyed flying as a raven far more than I did on a broom. It felt more natural, the fears and worries that gripped me otherwise fading away. Where before I had to be coached through the most basic of manoeuvres, as a raven I could be as acrobatic as I liked.

Noting that Charlie had my broom floating next to his so it wouldn't drift off, I decided to give the Weasleys a bit of a show. Banking left towards them, I flipped around in the air and flew past them inverted for a moment before righting myself and flying in a quick series of somersaults. The cheers of the twins was a balm against the dizziness inflicted by so many consecutive inversions.

I'd gained more of an audience than that though.

The Weasleys and I were the only people in the air, but there were a number of other students walking the grounds and a number of them had noticed my performance and stopped to spectate.

Unlike the creators of the Marauder's Map, I was a registered Animagus, fully certified by the Ministry. I'd never be able to keep it secret for long. What I hadn't expected was for someone to notice the addition to the Registry almost immediately and run a story about it in the Daily Prophet. As a result, I'd become a minor celebrity and been forced to transform just to avoid crowds on several occasions. With a bit of luck, the novelty would be wiped away once exams loomed and I'd be able to focus properly.

I'd received quite a bit of fan mail as well from various witches and wizards, some of them Animagi themselves. Several of the people I'd been corresponding with for the past few years had also sent their congratulations, letters that I'd tucked away with other precious tokens.

McGonagall had mixed feelings about the affair. On the one hand, more students were paying attention in her classes—for however long that lasted—but on the other, she'd had to turn down several requests/demands from students who also wanted to become Animagi. Leaving aside the fact that mentoring a student through the transformation was a long and stressful process, she had told me that she could never take more than one student at a time, even if any of the applicants had the required maturity and skill.

As with Rita Skeeter and McGonagall herself, my glasses had made themselves known as a curious discolouration encircling both my eyes in raven form. Aside from that, I was a prime specimen of Corvus Corax, the common raven. According to the book on ornithology I'd taken out of the Library—last checked out in the 1950s, I noted—I had become one of the largest species of corvid. Ravens were known for, among other things, being quite playful and intelligent, flying higher than their cousins—the crows—and being able to replicate many of the stunts of aerial acrobatics employed by larger birds of prey. It was the last of these that gave me the most joy. Though the association with ravens being the harbingers of storms and disaster also rang eerily true, for all that I aimed to avert a disaster.

I shook the bothersome thoughts aside. I couldn't do anything to change them. For the moment, I was content to just fly. And so I did, dive-bombing Percy and tricking him into falling into the Lake. He'd probably be annoyed later, but what could I do? Mischief was buried somewhere in my nature and it now had a way out.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Can I help you, Poe?" Professor Madadin asked when I approached them after class.

"Sorry to bother you, sir," I said. "But could I trouble you to look at a spell I've been struggling with for a while now. I had a breakthrough recently and I want to make sure I'm not doing it incorrectly."

"A spell that's given you trouble? Can't be that many of those." I couldn't make out many details, but I fancied that the Defence professor had one eyebrow raised. "Let's see... you say you've been working at it for a while, which in these circumstances I'm taking as being multiple years. As such, it's a spell whose details would be freely available at younger years but be complex enough to tax even a student as diligent as yourself. Moreover, you specifically asked me to look at it, implying that it produces a demonstrable result without requiring a living target. That does rather narrow the list..."

I smiled. Professor Madadin embodied the 'detective' aspects of being an Auror as much as the martial side of the profession. He had a tremendous knowledge of spells that he could mentally cross-reference with ease. I had compared his tendency to work out solutions to problems aloud to Sherlock Holmes, a parallel he found most amusing.

"I'll save you the bother of guessing, sir. It's the Patronus Charm."

That got a reaction. A not-actually-visible-behind-folds-of-fabric-but-I'm-fairly-sure-it's-there reaction, to be precise.

"Very well then, please demonstrate. I'll trust you enough not to be on guard for maggots."

I shuddered at the reminder of what allegedly happened to Dark wizards who tried to cast a Patronus.

Raising my wand—directed away from my teacher, just to be safe—I shut my eyes and reached back. Before, I'd fed the spell with memories of my time with the Weasleys, with visiting the Burrow, with long hours spent enraptured by the possibilities of magic in the Library. Now I reached to a more recent memory.

A memory of shedding my dead weight and taking wing. A memory of being free of gravity, free of everything. Of soaring high and not flinching in the slightest at the fall below. And most of all of diving, twisting, somersaulting through the air to delighted cheers.

"Expecto Patronum."

I knew without even opening my eyes that it had worked. The spell felt different now. It was like the difference between being wrapped in a blanket and being wrapped in a hug. There was more life to it.

"Well, this is rather unexpected," said Professor Madadin. I opened my eyes and looked down at my conjured guardian threading its way between my legs. "I was under the impression that most Animagi's patronus matches their animal form?"

"Most, not all," I said, speaking softly. "The sample size is quite small, all things considered. I talked with Professor McGonagall about the subject years ago and we still don't have a definitive answer. Although..."

"You have a theory?"

"Yes. Being an Animagus is about becoming something else. It's about change and freedom, of baring to the world a part of you that you normally cannot. A Patronus is... Different. It's a part of you that makes you feel safe, that is familiar and comforting. For a lot of people, I think that the two are the same. But some people, like me, are a bit contrary. If I turn into a raven because I want to take flight, then perhaps my Patronus is a cat because I actually feel safer in comfort? Or something. I'm not as familiar with the symbolism involved with cats. It's just a theory."

"Not a bad one," Madadin said, rubbing his chin through his scarf and watching the black and white cat circling me. I'd had to double check before I was sure that it specifically was a black and white cat, but the silver still conveyed a sense of contrast, somehow. Another mystery. "If you can write it out and put a bit more research behind it, I think that may even be a worthy topic for a paper. I'm sure there'd be quite a bit of interest in certain circles, given the rarity of cases to study."

"I might do that," I said, watching the cat finally disperse. Since it was my cat, rather than someone else's, it faded from the tail up, with the mouth vanishing last. "So, did I do it right?"

"As near as I can tell," the Defence professor said. "It was substantial, glowing, didn't disperse until you let it and was in a clearly defined shape with appropriate behaviours. Those are usually good signs that a Patronus has been correctly conjured. Though, as I'm sure you're aware, that performance just there would not suffice for, let's say, Auror purposes."

"I know, I took too long to focus before casting," I said, shrugging. "I'll work on that. Try and make a few more happy memories to draw on."

"You do that. And congratulations on defying expectations and convention again. Now get out, I have another class in here soon and I'm sure you have something to be doing as well. Shoo!"

I made my thanks and retreated from the classroom. I did turn his words over as I went though. It went without saying that almost no Hogwarts student became an Animagus at age fifteen and only slightly more mastered the Patronus charm at the same age. Once I factored in the non-verbal casting that I was gaining increasing proficiency in, I was quite a bit ahead of pretty much all my peers.

Scratch that, I was probably more capable than many adult witches and wizards.

I made a note to talk to Albus about that and continued on to the Library. Professor Madadatin was right, after all. I did have study to do.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Exams sucked. And the bigger the exams, the more they sucked.

I hated my OWLs. The weather was outrageously hot every day. The sun lanced at my eyes every time I dared to lift my gaze from the ground and then wrung rivers of sweat out of me in the midst of the exams themselves. Sunny weather was hell.

To be fair, the written exams were the worst parts. I was familiar enough with the theory behind Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts to breeze through those papers with ease. Charms was a bit trickier, outside of a few select areas that had caught my interest. In every other subject, I struggled.

History of Magic left my wrist in pain after I spent literal hours trying to pry every last detail I could recall out of my brain and plastering them onto the parchment. I'd written more than most people, it looked like, but that may have just been my handwriting. In any case, I still had several questions left when I ran out of time.

The Potions theory exam was manageable, but I was sure that I'd made several errors in the recitation of definitions, something that had always proven difficult. The Herbology exam proceeded similarly to Potions while Arithmancy left me drained and confused from what felt like a hundred different formulae rampaging around my skull.

The Muggle Studies exam was almost a refreshing break in the midst of them all. The actual material was quite simple to me, the only real problem came with the sheer volume it demanded in its answers. Presumably to get revenge on students who took it for an easy O, the exam covered what must have been every topic on the course and carried no less than four essay questions. Like with History of Magic, I left the exam hall with questions incomplete.

The practicals were more manageable. Brewing the assigned potions was almost too easy after years of practicing doing so with less-adequate facilities than those provided for the exam. Although the attempt to catch students off-guard by seeding the supplies with a few spoiled ingredients was annoying. Not least because if I hadn't noticed in time someone could have been seriously hurt. I had my potions perfectly brewed in plenty of time, but still left the room in a temper.

I was fairly sure that I failed the Astronomy practical exam. While Professor Sinestra had granted me a few accommodations in the preceding years, there were no such allowances in the OWL exams. The upshot of which was that I finished with a crick in my neck and less than half the questions answered.

To my considerable relief, the practicals for Charms, Transfiguration and Defence were almost too easy. I'd been touching on NEWT spells since halfway through my fourth year and was proficient in all spells on the OWL syllabus. The deciding factor in wowing my examiners though was my proficiency in casting them non-verbally. While Charms posed little challenge, I was almost sure I got full marks in Transfiguration for demonstrating my Animagus form on top of completing the rest of the exam in complete silence.

Defence Against the Dark Arts, however... That was a real treat.

Given Hogwarts' noted inability to maintain a competent Defence teacher—or any other kind of Defence teacher—for longer than a year, the examiners had not seemed all that hopeful. Even Professor Madadin, as competent as he was, could only do so much in the face of so many years of disrupted study.

I ran through the full list of required counter-jinxes, defensive spells, anti-creature spells and had just started on some of the more advanced ones when my examiner asked me to announce what spell I was doing first. I ended up demonstrating most of the spells and techniques I'd taught myself over the preceding five years and explaining the uses of each of them. I finished up by silently casting a Patronus Charm—a feat I only achieved a week before the exam—to the applause of several onlookers. Which, in retrospect, was quite unprofessional.

I wasn't worried about my Defence grade.

—tN—tN—tN—

Witches and wizard were atrocious at secrecy concerns, ironically enough for a population so obsessed with concealing its very existence from the majority. That said I thought they could be forgiven in one particular instance. Specifically, the instance whereby I was visited by a veritable parliament of owls every few days, carrying my ongoing correspondences—now expanded to include Professor Madadin. He was exposed as the victim of some bizarre spell or experiment that left him as a human with many of the cosmetic characteristics of a canine. Still as competent as ever, but inherently unworthy in the eyes of close-minded parents. He left in the night as soon as term ended. And there was a steady trickle of fan mail from people who were still caught up on my being an Animagus.

It did the beg the question of how Harry had never been so bothered by admirers, but I brushed that off as unimportant. The more immediate concern was that my status as a ward of the Muggle government had somehow failed to reach the general public, meaning that none of my well-wishers knew to exercise discretion. After a few weeks of it, I relented and gave Kuro a letter to take to the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hopefully, they'd have some kind of solution.

Two days later my mail came in a single parcel carried by an owl. Inside was half a dozen letters tied together in a package with a note on top thanking me for identifying a potential threat to the Statute of Secrecy and warning that my post may be somewhat delayed in future.

I petted Kuro and fed them some owl treats.

"That was easier than expected," I said to the owl. Kuro just hooted back.

—tN—tN—tN—

Postal difficulties aside, my summer was largely unremarkable. I worked a few part-time jobs in the area around the home, exchanged letters almost daily and studied whenever I had a free moment. I did manage to find time to make a few excursions into the other magical parts of London and was particularly taken by a quiet spot called Whimsik Alley.

I kept myself busy and occupied. I had to, or it'd finally sink in that I had finally entered canon territory. While I strolled through London or ferried packages between businesses, Harry might be conversing with a snake in a zoo, cooking breakfast on his cousin's birthday, scratching off another day on the wall of his cupboard. Well, not that last one. Albus had assured me that he'd taken care of that particular problem.

In the end, the headmaster had elected to mail the Dursleys under the guise of a Child Welfare officer and scare them into cutting out the abuse. Some careful surveillance had confirmed the success of the ruse. I knew that it wouldn't solve everything, not even close. But it was the best we could hope for while leaving Harry with his aunt and uncle. Not without intervening very directly and alienating the Dursleys even more.

Other people were able to count too though. Harry's age was a matter of public record and every time I ventured into one of magical Britain's private enclaves I could overhear at least one earnest discussion about the Boy Who Lived going to Hogwarts. The hype was disconcerting.

Even the Weasleys were not immune to animated discussions about what Harry would be like. During my three visits to the Burrow that summer, the topic came up at least once and usually involved a very excited Ginny and a trying-to-seem-disinterested-but-failing Ron. Holding my tongue on the subject was easier with a cup of tea in hand, strangely enough.

Ron and Ginny were appropriately awed by my Animagus transformation when the twins badgered me into demonstrating. I'd not spent as much time as I'd have liked in the air over the summer aside from a few quick jaunts around the city with Kuro—a far superior means of locomotion than trying to catch a bus or walk, even if I did need an owl to make sure I didn't get lost—and so took full advantage of the opportunity to play some aerial tag with the Weasleys. That was fun.

OWL results arrived. I scraped an Acceptable grade in History of Magic and Astronomy, managed to Exceed Expectations in Arithmancy, Herbology and Charms. I scored Outstanding in Muggle Studies, Transfiguration, Defence and Potions. All told, I was fully cleared to pursue Arithmancy, Charms, Defence, Potions and Transfiguration at a NEWT level, just as I'd hoped.

Now all I had to do was survive whatever trainwreck I'd replaced Canon with long enough to graduate.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Long time no see, Albus," I said. Upon returning to Hogwarts for my sixth year, I separated from the bulk of the student body to speak with Albus in a hidden room near the Entrance Hall, as per the request Fawkes had delivered to me the previous week. A silent Disillusionment Charm made slipping away almost too easy, though taking my seat in the Great Hall without getting in trouble would likely pose more of a challenge.

"Likewise, Poe," Albus said, resplendent in his finest robes. "I trust you had a busy but productive summer?"

"Quite. I look forward to next year, when I'll be freed from the Trace and won't be restricted to books. How about you sir? Has there been much progress on... Everything?"

Albus smiled broadly, a touch of pride in his eye.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Sirius has been responding well to therapy and has been officially, but quietly, cleared of all charges. He has been feeling restless of late, so I will have to find him something to do, but it's a positive sign. With his help, I have retrieved the locket. And with the conclusion of our negotiations with Gringotts recently, we now possess all currently existing Horcruxes and can eliminate them when convenient."

"Except for the one that's probably crossing the Lake right now," I noted, compelled to speak in spite of the damage done to the mood. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound pessimistic, it's just..."

"Frustrating, I know," Albus said, understanding. "To be so helpless even when you know so much. Don't fret, Poe. I haven't stopped searching for an answer and I don't intend to. We'll find a way."

"On a related note," I said, changing the subject. "How are the preparations for the Stone going?"

"Quite admirably!" Albus said, smiling broadly. "In truth, I rather wish I could have enlisted your aid in the project given your proclivity for designing such courses. Alas, such an act would have wrought undue attention."

"It's an interesting idea," I said, brow furrowing. "Perhaps make it, or some variation thereof, a permanent fixture? A kind of way to test students' skills under the guise of fun?"

"Possibly, possibly," Albus said, eyes gazing into infinity. "Yes, I think that would be quite well-received. A project to keep in mind once the current threats have been dealt with and order has been put to rights. Feel free to come up with proposals. In the meantime, however, we have a Feast to get to."

"Indeed," I said as we made our way out of the hidden rendezvous. Behind me, I could already hear Albus humming what I suspected was the Hogwarts School song.

Tonight, at least, there was good cause to be merry. Things were going well. Everything was under control. And if, when Harry Potter walked into the Hall, my gaze held apology rather than awe... Then that was a problem for another day.

—tN—tN—tN—

Hallowe'en 1991. A joyous celebration of the ancient festival of Samhain. Also the harbinger of incoming trolls unleashed by possessed Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, but you couldn't have everything.

Dumbledore assured me that he had the matter well in hand and I believed him. With the additional warnings I was able to give him, there was no chance of Voldemort being able to get his incorporeal hands on the Philosopher's Stone. To be on the safe side though, I had installed a prototype remote viewing apparatus in the third-floor corridor. Which was a fancy way of referring to my effort at enchanting a Muggle googly eye to function as a camera.

It had worked quite well in my previous tests and had either gone unnoticed or—more likely—been recognised and left in place by Dumbledore. I had told myself that I planted the bug in order to satisfy my own paranoia about whether or not Quirrel would be dealt with properly and not to indulge myself in a front-row seat for what I hoped would be a brief and one-sided beatdown.

There was no point in taking unnecessary risks though. I convinced Fred and George to loan me the Marauders Map for the evening so I could keep an eye out for any potential troll victims or hostages. I also intercepted Hermione after her Charms class and calmed her down enough to go to the Feast instead of the bathroom. That had been more stressful than I'd hoped. I sympathised with Hermione on several levels, but she was still difficult to deal with when she was a crying mess. Particularly since she had yet to mature out of her insufferable bookworm phase.

When the Feast rolled around and Quirrel had burst through the doors, screaming about a troll in the dungeons, there was nobody left unaccounted that I could tell. Dumbledore did an admirable job of pretending to be surprised and organised a party to search for and remove the troll. As in the original chain of events, students were dispatched to their common rooms under the guidance of our prefects.

I retired to my room claiming exhaustion instead of joining the crowd milling in the common room. I drew the curtains around my bed and charmed them shut for good measure. It took a minute to ensure I was adequately private, then I pulled out the Map and a blank photograph.

As expected, Quirrel was sneaking towards the corridor. Dumbledore must have warned Snape in advance to prevent the Potions Master scaring him off. Snape was not the only one warned. Lying in wait for Quirrel was a half-dozen names I didn't recognise but likely belonged to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Choosing my moment carefully, I tapped the blank photo and activated the charm that would link it to the eye on the corridor ceiling and start it recording. A scene took shape on the paper, giving me a live view of what was going on.

As I thought, there were six wizards and witches in Hit Wizard robes spread out in the corridor. Fluffy—who had been there when I'd checked the day before—had been removed temporarily. I wondered if Dumbledore had let that part leak to Quirrel in order to further entice him. It was what I would have done.

The door of the corridor started to open and the six Ministry officials vanished. I squinted, looked closer, and could make out a few slight smudges moving towards the walls. Disillusionment Charms.

Quirrel entered the corridor, shutting the doors behind him. He looked around but evidently failed to notice the concealed Hit Wizards. As he stalked towards the trapdoor, gone was the nervous, stuttering, Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Oh, I thought it very likely he was still nervous, but he moved with confidence, advancing with his wand at the ready. Then he reached the trapdoor and couldn't pull it open.

Stepping back, he waved his wand over the trapdoor and muttered a few spells. It still refused to yield.

It was at that point that the doors opened fully and revealed Dumbledore, accompanied by McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout. After a moment, Hagrid also came into view, looming over the others.

I didn't know what was said between them. I could make guesses though.

I imagined that Quirrel was trying to make some excuse about being worried that someone might come after the Stone while the staff was pre-occupied with the troll—which was, I noticed, unmoving on one of the lower floors. Then I decided he'd likely draw attention to Fluffy's absence and claim that as proof that there was substance to his worries.

Given that the Hit Wizards dropped the Disillusionment Charms at that point, I suspected that I wasn't far off.

Then the wands came out and spells flashed across the corridor. The teachers barely even had a moment to react, the Hit Wizards were faster on the draw. I thought that Quirrel may have turned to threats of some sort and that had provoked the Ministry agents. Whatever he did, he was down.

I stared at the image of Quirrel's still body. The Hit Wizards seemed to have relaxed, Albus had not. The former Defence teacher's body began to crack and smoke, sections of skin peeling off as dark vapour poured out from under it. The Hit Wizards took notice and cast several unidentified spells at the smoke to no effect.

Dumbledore raised his wand to cast but Voldemort's spirit was quicker. The smoke contracted into a dense ball before exploding outwards, blowing the Hit Wizards and other teachers off their feet.

The sudden smog completely obscured my view for several moments before clearing away entirely. Quirrel's remains were charcoal, the Hit Wizards were shakily regaining their footing, and Albus was casting around with his wand as if looking for something.

Albus lowered his wand and shook his head. I could only infer that Riddle had escaped.

Quirrel's remains were levitated away shortly, the Hit Wizards going with him. The staff hung around for a few moments, waving their wands about. Probably adding in a few more protective enchantments. Then they left too and I was watching an empty hallway.

I stopped the recording and put the photograph aside.

Nothing else was likely to happen that was worth my time to watch. In the meantime, I'd had a long and tense day so I got ready for bed and retired for the night.

Regardless of whether or not Dumbledore was able to locate wherever Voldemort's spirit was hiding, this first round had gone to us.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Destination, Determination, and Deliberation," I muttered to myself, focusing on the hoop on the ground to the exclusion of all else.

I shut my eyes and visualised the hoop as best I could. It was just a few metres in front of me. I could almost feel that distance—even if I was mostly sure that was my imagination. Destination.

I needed to be in that hoop. I couldn't not be in that hoop. I tried to picture gravity itself changing to pull me towards the hoop with moderate success. Determination.

Then I turned. As I did so, I imagine myself coming loose from the world where I stood and sailing through space to land perfectly in the hoop. Deliberation.

In the seventh of the twelve lessons offered to Hogwarts students on Apparition, I finally vanished where I stood and reappeared where I intended instead of tripping and falling over myself. I allowed myself a brief smile and a moment to relax.

Then I focused and tried to go back to where I'd stood before, eyes open. Fast and accurate Apparition was too valuable a skill to not have. However much practice it took.

—tN—tN—tN—

"This place is wicked," Ron said, turning in a slow circle with an awed smile on his face.

The Room had taken the form of a vaulted hall with its walls adorned with innumerable books. The centre of the space was outfitted with a series of chairs and tables for readers to peruse the volumes at their leisure. It was more or less what I expected from a Room created by Hermione to test the Room of Requirement's capabilities. The girl in question had gravitated straight towards the bookshelves, even as Ron had gone to 'investigate' the chairs. The final member of the trio still stood next to, just inside the doorway. The two of us had little occasion to speak with one another and neither of us felt any inclination to address that deficit. The Boy Who Lived looked around the room, curious but wary.

"Some of these books aren't even in the Library," Hermione called out from amidst her perusal. Her voice was half-strangled, her excitement warring with the Library instincts the presence of the books had awoken. "Where did they even come from?"

"I don't actually know," I admitted when it became apparent that the question was not actually rhetorical. "I'm fairly sure that some of them are ones that people have left in the Room and never collected again. I have a theory that it kinda absorbs abandoned objects in the castle at large. But I'm not certain either way, save that it's never once given me a bad reading recommendation."

"And students really are allowed to study in here?" Hermione pressed. She had yet to shed her respect for the rules as she had in the original sequence of events.

"Considering that Dumbledore knows about it and has never warned me against using it, I think you're probably fine," I said. "If anyone does give you hassle about it, refer them to me and I'll take any blame, okay?"

The mention of the headmaster and a transferral of culpability seemed to placate Hermione. She plucked a book from the shelf and took it over to the centre of the room to read. Harry didn't seem quite as certain.

"And this room can help us learn?" he asked, turning away from his careful study of the room to look at me. I did my best to not react. He was a child, for crying out loud. Hero of prophecy or not, there was absolutely no reason for me to be nervous about his attention being on me. I'd checked and double-checked and I had not fallen into some strange alternate universe version of the series where Harry was actually a latent supermage with unrivalled wit and wisdom.

"It can," I confirmed. "It helped me. This is just one form the Room can take. Granger likes books, so it gave her a room full of them. In future, when you're looking for something, try to specify what you're looking for. For me, it usually gave me some books, but also some space and tools to practice with. A selection of targets to practice spells against, for example."

"So it can't just... Magic the stuff into our heads?" Harry asked. I smiled.

"No, I'm afraid not. Magic involving the mind is very advanced and very dangerous. Even if it was possible... No, I don't think the Room would do that." Harry looked at me, his scarred brow creasing in puzzlement. "I believe, though this is just a theory, that the Room of Requirement was built by the Founders when Hogwarts was first made. Hogwarts was made with many things in mind. Security, privacy, comfort, but most of all as a place of learning. To make a room that would grant whatever a student wished, without any effort on their part... It would be counterproductive. Instead, the Room gives you the tools and resources you need to teach yourself. If my theory is right, then this room could be considered one lasting gift from the Founders, one final precaution to ensure the students to come would be able to learn what they needed."

"Wonder if the Defence teachers ran off with no warning back then as well," Harry muttered. He hadn't liked Quirrel, but the turban-clad professor's removal—which had been covered up by Dumbledore to prevent a panic—had taken away what little instruction they had been receiving. Ron had turned to Percy for help—likely at Hermione's urging, I suspected—and Percy had directed them to me. To be fair, I should have expected that, having helped Percy with his own Defence work since he first arrived.

Those days with the eldest three Weasley brothers were preserved in photographs—magic ones that moved—that I now had tucked away in a scrapbook. Such precious and happy moments were not to be trusted to my fickle and treacherous memory. Whenever I dig them out, I couldn't help but smile. By turns comforting, by turns bittersweet. But I smiled.

Harry glanced up from whatever he was thinking about and looked around the Room.

"So, will you be able to teach us?"

I panicked, my face never twitching. I'd never planned on interacting much with the main cast. To take a direct hand in trying to teach Harry himself, especially when he was still in freaking first-year... The panic waned and I took control, analysing the problem and breaking it down.

"I have my own work to do, so I can't fill the role as your Defence teacher, no," I said. "I just don't have the time or the energy. What I can do is show you how I learnt and help you if you get stuck on anything. I've got some notes you can borrow as well, I suppose, from what I was planning out what to try and learn at the beginning."

"That'd be brilliant, thanks."

Harry's smile was gratifying and nerve-wracking to behold. I pushed the sensation to the side and move to leave the Room.

"If you three could come outside for a moment, I need to show you something else."

Harry was right behind me on the way out and together we waited for Ron and Hermione to traipse. One lagged from an unwillingness to have to change again, the other from a reluctance to abandon her new reading material. Regardless, we soon stood before the tapestry of the trolls and watched the Room fade from sight. I turned and strode past the length of wall quickly, summoning the arrangement I'd used countless times before. The door greeted me again.

Harry and Ron were naturally interested in the targets along one wall, Ron even pulling out his wand—it was painful how obviously worn it was—to try shooting some sparks at them. Hermione gravitated to the smaller selection of books, disappointed to lose her previous hoard but determined to catalogue the new ones. While the first-years were occupied, I shut the door and made my way to the locked chests. I couldn't help but smirk a bit. It would be... Cathartic, to be on the other side of this for once.

"There's three of them, so I can start out a bit higher, I think," I said, muttering to myself. Harry nonetheless heard me saying something and glanced over to ask me "What was that Po—" before I tapped the chest open and stood to one side to let the trio of bludgers streak into the air.

Harry yelped, and ducked the first one that came for his head on instinct—his previous Quidditch training coming into play. The noise drew the attention of the others, who looked away from their own work—Ron had somehow given the head of one of the mannequins a pink wig and had been snickering to himself. Ron's reaction was somewhat controlled, taking cover behind a mannequin and letting it take the hit for him. Hermione shrieked and dropped to the ground. Of course, she avoided the troll scenario entirely this time, so she was somewhat lacking in personal experience. Well, that's what I was trying to give them. That said, I had cast a Cushioning Charm on the bludgers before unleashing them, just to be safe.

Actually, how had Hermione become friends with the other two without the bonding-by-near-death-adventure? I pondered the question while the three of them jumped around and shouted at each other—and me, but I pretended not to hear those. I supposed that something else must have happened. Perhaps they went to her with an apology sincere enough to plant the seeds of something more substantial? They didn't seem quite as close as I remembered them being...

Of course, Ron's brother was a Prefect! I recalled the chain of events that led them to seek me out, and formed a hypothesis. Harry and Ron had gone to Hermione to apologise for their behaviour. Hermione had still been angry and requested that Ron ask his brother to help her with her Defence Against the Dark Arts work—she would be the most worried of all of them about the sudden loss of a teacher—and things had spiralled from there. If that was the case, then I'd just become the troll-equivalent... Oops.

I didn't worry too much. They were all smart kids, they'd figure out something to deal with the bludgers eventually.

A cushioned ball of iron knocked Hermione into Harry and sent them both to the ground, where a backstepping Ron tripped and fell also. Their attempt to untangle themselves and get back up was broken by another bludger impact.

I hoped.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Being a student in their final year gave one some perks. As the NEWTs loomed on the horizon, my free time was virtually non-existent but I was compensated somewhat by a few select privileges. Some such privileges were codified in the school regulations and were as much intended to help prevent students from being overcome by stress as anything else. Most, however, were more like traditions.

Seventh-years had first pick of places to sit and read in the Library or the common rooms. Teachers looked the other way when seventh-years visited the kitchen for extra food—though students were only actually punished for that if they'd done something to particularly annoy a given teacher anyway.

And nobody asked questions if a seventh-year paced around the corridors with no rhyme or reason for hours on end between classes. It was a very bleak privilege, but one that I made full use of.

It may have been my final year at Hogwarts—and wasn't that a saddening thought—but it was only Harry Potter's second. And in Harry's second year Lucius Malfoy attempted to open the Chamber of Secrets.

Dumbledore had covertly checked incoming first-years' luggage and found the diary right where it had been expected—in Ginny Weasley's belongings. He took her aside, explained that it was cursed, urged her to keep quiet about it except to her brothers, and sent back to her House with a calming mug of hot cocoa. That had been yesterday evening.

This morning, Harry Potter had been called to see the headmaster on unspecified business and neither had been seen in the hours since. Lunch had passed with their places in the great Hall empty. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom had been closed by Albus's orders, though none but myself knew why.

Albus and Harry had gone to slay the basilisk. It wasn't like in the original books where two desperate school boys had shanghaied a charming fraud into escorting them. This time, Harry was in the company of Dumbledore himself. Albus knew what to expect and what precautions to take. I suspected that if I were to check with Hagrid he'd very specifically and fervently deny letting the headmaster borrow a rooster.

Albus should have no bother in defeating the giant serpent. None at all. And yet...

And yet they were gone so long. They should be fine, but if they weren't there was a very real risk that the basilisk was loose in the castle once more. I didn't know what it might do in the absence of any orders, but I feared the worst—that it would follow the last edicts of Tom Riddle and begin hunting Muggle-borns.

The corridor was empty, but every slight sound made me jump and twitch as though the snake was about to loom out of the shadows at any moment and strike me dead with its terrible eyes.

It was unlikely, I knew. Dumbledore would be careful, he wouldn't risk the castle like that. But it wasn't impossible and so my skin crawled.

My stomach churned through my first few classes and I wasn't sure I'd be able to swallow my dinner. I made myself go anyway. I was glad I did.

Dumbledore once more held pride of place in the Great Hall, beaming down at his students. I spared a glance to see if Harry was at his table—he was—before returning my gaze to the headmaster. As usual, Albus had an uncanny ability to tell when he was being watched and turned to meet my gaze just long enough to wink before turning to converse with Professor Snape.

I took my usual place—another seventh-year privilege—and began to eat, forcing the delicious tasteless mush into my stomach. The day had been as nerve-wracking as any exam and had brought me to a realisation.

Conflict scared me, but being passive was even worse.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to your Defence Against the Dark Arts class." The face of Gilderoy Lockhart beamed at us all from the front of the classroom. I resisted the urge to twitch. The wizard stepped around his desk and began striding around the classroom, speaking as he went. He didn't have a terribly large audience. There wasn't even a dozen students taking Defence Against the Dark Arts for their NEWTs.

"Now, I gather that in your time at this illustrious institution you have had quite a number of teachers of varying quality. Quite understandably, you are all likely quite worried about the potential state of affairs this year. Well worry no more, I tell you! For I, Gilderoy Lockhart, am here to instruct and educate you to the best of my considerable ability.

"Now, I'm sure that students as diligent as you all—congratulations on making it to your final year, by the way—are all familiar with my books already. As such, we need not concern ourselves with them any further this year save as reference material. Instead, we will devote our time to the practical application of what you have learned so far and to developing new and innovative ways of bringing the battle to the Dark Forces that threaten us."

It was certainly a more inspiring opening than the one I remembered Harry receiving. Our teacher suited words to action and ordered us to the front of the room with only our wands. Then he cleared the floor with a wave of his own wand and turned to face us once more.

"To begin with, what is the most important weapons we have against the Dark Arts? And I'll give you a clue, the answer is not your wands or your magic."

I'd spent much of my last few years writing ex-aurors and other noted warriors against the Dark Arts for advice and knew the answer.

"Experience, sir." He smiled—teeth flashing—and gestured for me to elaborate. I still wasn't comfortable being the centre of attention, but I continued anyway. "There are many things that are useful in fighting the Dark Arts. Reflexes, to be able to react in time. Knowledge, to act appropriately and effectively. Courage, to be able to act at all when confronted with fear. And all of these come from experience. The more actual practice you have in dealing with the Dark Arts, the faster you will be able to recognise what to do and do it. The more familiar you are with something, the more likely you are to be able to conquer your fears. In general, that is."

"Succinctly put and well-reasoned! Twenty points to your house! Now, for obvious reasons, we can't unleash a Nundu on you in class or pit you against actual Dark Wizards intent on murder. As such, we will be working with three different kinds of exercise for the most part.

"Firstly will be duelling. Though it would be more accurately referred to as sparring as we will not be dealing in manners and bowing. I will group you up, sometimes in pairs, sometimes in larger groups. Sometimes you will be sparring against one person, sometimes you will have to contend against multiple people. Much of the time you will be on your own, other times you will have to work with others. Duelling will hone your battle reflexes and tactical thinking as well as improve your aim and technique when casting.

"Secondly we will be doing simulated exercises. In these, I will give you a scenario and you must pass them with your own knowledge. I may put you into an obstacle course laden with deadly traps, require you to identify danger in an apparently-harmless selection of objects or set you to hunt down an unknown creature somewhere in the castle. While I shall endeavour to ensure your lives are not imperilled in these, I cannot guarantee that you will not require the aid of the marvellous Madam Pomfrey at some point.

"Finally, there will be research projects. Every two weeks, you will each be assigned a topic. It may be a curse, a creature, an object or the description of a Dark Attack. You will then have to investigate that topic to the best of your abilities and return to me with details demonstrating your complete understanding of it. For example, for a curse, I would need to know what it does, where it originates from, how to counter it and who is likely to use it and why. You will have unfettered access to the Restricted Section of the Library for these. In fact, I'll be handing out passes for each of you at the end of this lesson for the year." The megawatt grin vanished. "Do not abuse them." It returned.

The year was looking up already.

—tN—tN—tN—

"My apologies for questioning your judgement, Professor Dumbledore," the Defence teacher said, perfect smile marred by a frown. "But is it really appropriate to involve a student in this?"

'This' was the further exploration of the Chamber of Secrets, an expedition party of three. Following the defeat of the Basilisk in the first week of term, Dumbledore had requested that Harry leave the entrance open. Without the parseltongue barrier, we were free to venture into the Chamber for ourselves to examine what else lay within. After all, it was known as the Chamber of Secrets. Plural, not singular.

"It is quite alright, Professor Lockhart," Albus said, humming cheerily. "As I'm sure you've observed in your classes, Poe is a capable student with a record of being mature and reliable. They've also made a particular study of the magics of concealment and counter-concealment, skills that would greatly benefit from a real-life exercise under controlled conditions. They're also an Animagus capable of flight incidentally, and is, therefore, an invaluable ally in exploration."

"An Animagus so young?" The younger professor turned to look at me while still walking, his eyes seeming to see me in a new light. "Quite remarkable. But I'm still not sure that's it's entirely appropriate, even with such great wizards as yourself and I, the renowned Gilderoy Lockhart, as protection!"

I cast a few detection spells and found nobody within range. A few privacy spells foiled any remote surveillance.

"Very renowned, Professor," I said. "But I was under the impression that Gilderoy Lockhart preferred lilac to black?"

He came to a dead stop and spun around to face me fully, eyes wide and wand pointed squarely at my chest. I covertly cast a shield and used a spell I'd created that would make me appear to be in the same place while I stood a bit to one side. My opponent didn't notice the trick, though Albus's darting eyes alerted me that he saw through my deception.

"Calm down, Sirius," Albus said, giving his own wand a twitch to break my illusion and uncover my true location. "Poe is quite trustworthy, I assure you."

"That's irrelevant, Albus," the disguised Sirius Black snarled. "This was supposed to be a secret. You haven't even let me tell Harry yet, but you feel the need to inform a random seventh-year?"

"I did no such thing," Dumbledore assured him. "Poe made their own deductions and told me of them when I requested their presence on this little trip."

"How?" Sirius's tone had not wavered an inch, still glaring at me intently. At least his wand was now at his side instead of directed at me.

"Gilderoy Lockhart was a fraud," I said. "The person who came before us to teach was not."

"That explains how you knew who I wasn't, but not how you knew who I was. And it begs the question of how you knew that about Lockhart, but that's a separate issue. How did you know who I was?"

I wavered for a moment before admitting the truth.

"I borrowed the Marauder's Map from the Weasley twins to check. You seem to be coping well for a man released from a life-sentence in Azkaban, Mr Black."

"Over a solid year of bloody therapy will do that to you," Sirius muttered, relaxing. "The Map, you say? How did you even know that existed?"

"The Weasley twins have adopted me as a mentor of sorts in uncovering the secrets of Hogwarts. They told me about the Map shortly after they found it—an incident involving Filch's office, ask them about it yourself—and I've borrowed it a few times since. While I had possession of it a while ago, I took the liberty of Concealing your own presence on the Map. It can be undone quite easily if you know it's there, but in the meantime, it should prevent your cover from being blown too soon."

"Clever, very clever," Sirius said, looking almost impressed. "The Map can't be fooled, but it's readers can. Alright then, you can stay. Let's see how good those wits of yours really are."

—tN—tN—tN—

Dumbledore had made a point of defanging the basilisk before leaving the Chamber the first time and had likely extracted any other lingering venom as well. The rest of the basilisk's corpse still lay in the chamber, curled at the foot of the colossal statue of Salazar Slytherin. I gathered that the headmaster planned to bring in specialists to remove the body and extract anything valuable or otherwise of interest at a later date. First, though, it was our job to clear the Chamber of any lingering traps or nasty surprises.

I had been casting my own detection spells every few minutes all the way down and had turned up nothing beyond the Chamber's own Unplottability spells and other secrecy charms. I was more than a bit impressed at how extensive they were. If I had not already been inside the area they were protecting, I doubt I would have been able to find them at all.

Once in the Chamber proper, Albus had conjured a flock of glowing lights to illuminate the room in its entirety. It really was quite large, though the fact that it was almost entirely flooded somewhat ruined the effect. I cast an Imperturbability Charm on my robe and boots before stepping down to keep the water off. Along with whatever else may be in it.

"There's old magic here," Dumbledore voiced aloud after a few moments of running his fingers along surfaces I couldn't see and mumbling to himself. "Very old and powerful. Not quite as dark as one may have imagined."

"Slytherin was likely far from the dark figure he's been painted as," I said. "While it's true that the breeding of a Basilisk is considered a very dark and dangerous act of magic, particularly when doing so to act as a weapon, I have found little else in the way of hard historical facts to support the image of him as a Dark wizard. He was a Parseltongue, yes and a noted Legillimens, but neither of those is innately evil."

"Quite a historian, I see," Sirius said, snorting. "I didn't see History of Magic on your timetable though, so I'll take your theories with a grain of salt."

"Now, now, Sirius, don't be so childish," Albus chided. "Poe is entirely correct. While Salazar Slytherin may have fallen from grace, the details surrounding the events that lead to his expulsion from the castle are... Muddled to say about the least. It is not unlikely that the remaining member of the school may have taken to tarnishing his name to reduce the damage done by his departure. And it goes without saying that while he later turned to the perilous philosophy of blood purity, he founded the school alongside each of the other founders and taught alongside them for many years."

"Besides, his House is still around," I chimed in. "If he had truly turned to the dark arts then don't you think that the other founders would have worked to expunge his legacy in case he, you know, had created some kind of hidden weapon for his heirs to use against them?"

"Fine, fine, I see your point, doesn't change the fact that Slytherin was likely a slimy git."

"You can be obnoxious without being evil. Just as well or Azkaban would be packed to the gills." Sirius flinched at the name of the prison and I winced, cursing my choice of words. "Ah, sorry, I forgot that you—"

"Don't." Sirius's voice was determined. "It's just a name. I can deal with it. Besides, that was almost funny. But enough about whether or not Slythery got a fair trial, are any of the rest of you finding anything in here? Because I'm not. Not a single living thing, not a single dark curse, not a ghost, nothing."

"It is a bit surprising," Albus agreed, brow furrowed in what I recognised as intrigue. "I had expected for there to be something down here beyond the obvious." He waved a hand towards the still serpent and statue.

On a hunch, I cast a spell that checked for deceased beings. A corpse-finder.

"Oh. There... I think I found something," I said, my stomach already churning slightly. Albus glanced over, not having caught what spell I used. Sirius just tensed and raised his wand, as if to do battle. "In those little alcoves... No, behind them, in the wall. And under some of the stones. There are... creatures. Dead creatures. Not ones that I recognise, though I must admit that I have not taken Care of Magical Creatures."

Dumbledore's expression fell. He seemed to have reached his own conclusions about what had happened. With a wave of his wand, he uprooted one of the stones I'd indicated. The heavy block ground out of the floor and floated to the side, settling back down with nary a whisper.

Beneath it was a hollowed out space filled by a long desiccated skeleton. Parts were missing, likely fallen out of place, but it was smaller than a human with at least six arms and what I thought was a long tail. Albus levitated a skull into view. It was long with half a collection of razor-sharp teeth. Then he levitated the other four skulls.

"Merlin..." Sirius whispered. "He didn't just hide a basilisk down here. He hid an army."

"Not necessarily," I corrected, mouth running on automatic. "These could have been added later. Someone had to be able to access the Chamber to move the entrance, it stands to reason that there's been at least one heir that's made use of the place without feeling the time was right to unleash the basilisk. I'm more concerned with... More concerned by the fact that I don't recognise that. I don't recognise the shapes of any of these. What are they? Do either of you know?"

"I do not," Albus said. It was a quiet statement, not because he wished to make less of his ignorance but because I rather suspected he was experiencing the same horror as I was. "I will consult with experts in the field, but I have my doubts that they will turn up anything either."

"What do you mean? How could Slytherin, how could anyone get ahold of so many dark creatures so obscure that you don't think anyone will know what they are?" Sirius asked, turning slowly on the spot, wand flitting from shadow to shadow.

"Because Slytherin may have created them himself," I said, my own voice sounding as though it were coming from a great distance. "There is precedence with the basilisk, which requires an involved breeding process and no small amount of experimentation. Given his aptitude for communing with snakes, it would not be unreasonable for him to experiment with the creation of servants intended to best take advantage of that affinity. To see how far the definition of 'snake' can be stretched. I've read some texts in the Restricted Section about this sort of thing but... Albus, I'm seeing hundreds of these corpses. Maybe even thousands. It's hard to tell with how densely some of them seem packed."

"I see them too, Poe," Albus said. "The only thing in our favour is that they seem truly inert. Whatever purpose they may have been created for, they have, to use the Muggle turn of phrase, long passed their expiration date."

"If they were experiments, Slytherin wouldn't exactly be in a position to verify their longevity, I suppose," I said, forcibly keeping my tone light. "There were probably spells, maybe even potions, intended to keep them alive and well until they were needed, but a thousand years is a long time. Long enough for nearly any spell to fade, any potion to lose its potency. The heir Salazar's legacy awaited never came, or was too timid to make use of them. However long Salazar had expected it to take, it was too long, too long by far. In the end, the only one that survived was the basilisk. And now it too is at rest."

"How poetic," Sirius commented. "And I would like to propose that we leave the spooky dead creatures here and go back up. We came here to make sure that there wasn't anything dangerous hidden away. The only things we've found are corpses. Unless there are inferi hidden among them or there's some strange poison or plague in there, then our job is done. We can leave the rest to some of those magizoologist specialists you were talking about earlier. They'll know how to handle this."

"I must concur, Sirius," Albus said, lowering the stone block back into place, entombing the skeleton once more. "There is nothing more we can do. I'll send an owl to interested parties this evening and then the excavation of the fabled Chamber of Secrets can begin in earnest. Our part is done. Come now, I believe that there will be hot chocolate waiting for us."

I resisted the urge to shift into a raven and fly straight out of the Chamber. Instead, I followed after the two older wizards, still casting detection spells constantly, to be safe. And if we left faster than we entered, if we each placed our own separate sealing charms on the entrance as we passed through, we didn't mention it.

The Chamber's secrets were for others to unravel and I would love to hear their findings. From a distance.

—tN—tN—tN—

NEWTs were, strangely enough, both nasty and exhausting. The papers—or parchments, depending on how pedantic you were—put the OWL exams to shame both in length and complexity. Where OWLs had been more annoying, by and large, the NEWT exams were genuinely difficult. But I picked my subjects well. Those I elected to pursue to the end of my Hogwarts career were those that I had the deepest interest in from the very start. Those were the fields that I honed in sleepless nights until sweat dripped down the length of my wand to steam at the tip.

I Transfigured as easily as breathing, shifting a cup to a cat, a dragon, a ball of fire, an intricate ice sculpture, and finally an inanimate facsimile of a human being. My Charming ability was no less sharp. As accustomed as I was to working spells for detection, protection, concealment or convenience at a moment's notice, I managed even the most complex spells perfectly in complete silence.

My Potions work had grown in the preceding two years. Snape was not a good teacher, but as his class shrunk and those he deemed unsuitable were weaned out, he was able to act as a mentor, which suited him far more. Lectures delivered from the blackboard was replaced with sharp discussion and detailed criticism as he circled the classroom and observed us as we worked. I was tempted to try and steal his old Potions textbook—if it was even there to be found—but elected to emulate the Half-Blood Prince's example and annotated my own text with the results of experimentation. Snape's expression as he examined it one day was the closest I'd seen him come to respect.

More reasonable he may have been, Snape was still a harsh taskmaster and his classes were noteworthy for being the only one universally agreed to be harder than its exam. I failed to complete one of my potions on the day of the exam, but my work was otherwise flawless. I had likely missed out on an Outstanding, but I was optimistic that my grade would still pass muster.

Maths was an old foe for me and even armed with magic I was able to handle it in my Arithmancy exam. As usual, I was convinced of a number of operational errors, but it was the best I could.

Defence was the final challenge. My year was moderately lucky in that we had three and a half years of competent instruction. After Quirrel's unplanned departure, the post was filled by a rotation of Hit Wizards and Aurors on leave. It was a disjointed manner of teaching but still worlds ahead of the faltering lectures delivered by Quirrel's facade. Sirius was a bit rusty at the start of the year, but he hid it well and was well into his stride by the time the school broke for Christmas. He may never have been an auror, but his experience in combat against other witches and wizards was real. He also made a point of teaching the Patronus Charm to as many people as he could.

In spite of the patchy coverage of the material, I was able to perform to the required standards in spellwork and beyond them in creativity. The theory side was one of the few papers that I found easier than the practical.

And then I was done. Exhausted, but accomplished. My results would not come for a while, but I had officially completed my Hogwarts education and could go on with the rest of my life.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Congratulations on graduating, Poe."

Albus toasted me with his teacup. I raised my own cup and brought it against his with a chink. We were seated in the Headmaster's Office on either side of a small table Albus had pulled out for the occasion. I was doing my best not to get distracted by all the instruments and baubles around me.

Ironically, in spite of having met and conversed with Albus in a multitude of locations around the castle and beyond, this was the first time I'd been in his office. I supposed that was just a quirk of wanting to be sure that nobody noticed that Albus and I were meeting for private conversations on an irregular basis. But it still struck me as funny, in both the 'strange' and 'humorous' interpretations of the word.

"Thank you, Albus," I said, my mouth breaking into a genuine smile for a moment. "It's good to have the exams and homework behind me."

"Indeed. I take it that any insinuations that worse is yet to come would not be received well?"

My grip tightened minutely and my smile became significantly less-genuine, just for a moment before I reminded myself that Albus was making a joke.

"...I see that they would not. My apologies."

"No need to apologise. Just... Please don't bring that particular point of view up again."

I took a sip of the hotter-than-I-prefer tea and breathed deeply for a moment. I'd broken the moment and made things awkward...

"So, Albus, was there anything, in particular, you wanted to see me about? These are, ah, rather more formal surroundings than usual," I said after a moment of scrabbling for something to say. It was a good question though.

"Ah, I was curious about your plans going forward," Albus said, beard twitching as he smiled at me from behind his own teacup. "In particular, I wanted to offer some of my assistance and request some of your own."

"Well, I'm looking into starting up that line of books and games that I was telling you about," I said, dredging up the details. "At the moment I'm interested in getting premises in London that'd double as a shop and apartment. A small enough place, but it's doable. I think."

"In Diagon Alley?" Dumbledore said, one eyebrow quirked.

"No, Whimsik."

"Ah. A most pleasant little neighbourhood. Vastly more affordable than Diagon too. Even then..." Albus frowned for a moment, seemingly weighing something up. "If you'll forgive my presumptiveness, I have my doubts about whether you could start and sustain a business on top of paying for the premises."

"Yes, I'm still working out the kinks in that idea," I admitted. "I'm looking into anyone who might be able to give a trustworthy loan."

"I believe I can save you the bother of searching further," Dumbledore said, smile broadening suddenly. It took me a moment to twig to what he was suggesting.

"You? I wasn't under the impression that you were that wealthy yourself, Albus. Are you sure that's really okay?"

"Quite. Consider it a graduation gift to a talented student, an investment in an enterprise that could of service to the school... While I am not as wealthy as such individuals as the Malfoys, I am far from penniless, I assure you. The Headmaster's salary is not small and I have acquired rather a few other titles and positions over the years. And that's on top of some of my more profitable endeavours."

I had never considered Dumbledore's fiscal status. While I never thought him impoverished—certainly not in those robes—he never struck me as being wealthy either. Then again, Dumbledore was a very smart man. An old and influential one too. Even with his other duties, it wasn't hard to imagine that he had found some other ways of gaining income over the past century. Not to mention whatever rewards he received for stopping Grindlewald.

"If it isn't a burden on you, then that would be most appreciated Albus, thank you. Perhaps we can discuss it at a later date? I should be able to get more details on the property if I can tell them I have a source of finance."

"Naturally. Even if you leave this castle as a student, my door is always open to you, Poe."

"Then thank you. I'll get back to you on that. Now, how did you say I could be of use to you?"

Dumbledore straightened up, his cheery demeanour dimming.

"Yes... I'm sure you're as aware as I am, maybe even moreso, that it is highly probable that Tom will be returning to power in the near future. When that time comes... Can I count on your support? To fight him?"

I set my cup down carefully. Albus's question was one that had plagued me for the better part of a decade by now. I'd lost countless hours of sleep honing my skills in duelling and charming, done everything I could to be ready to fight—or at least to contribute. To do more than just survive. Albus was still speaking.

"I know you've made your own preparations, honed your not-inconsiderable talents. But there is a difference between being ready and able to fight in your defence, and being ready and willing to take the fight to the enemy. I would greatly appreciate having you by my side, but I cannot and will not force you to do so. If you so desire to live out the coming war in as much safety as possible, you have my blessing and support."

"I... I have been thinking," I said, working through my thoughts aloud. One of the things I appreciated about Albus was that he let me do that without interrupting. "About fighting. It scares me. I don't want to die. Or even be hurt. But I... I can't stay out of it either. At the start of the year, when you and Harry defeated the Basilisk, I felt wretched. I felt almost physically ill. And... And I don't think I can do that again. if... No. When Voldemort returns, you can count on me. I'm not sure how much use I'll be in a fight, but I'll do what I can. You can count on me for that."

"You sell yourself too short, Poe," Dumbledore said. He wasn't smiling, wasn't happy. And I appreciated that. I had just volunteered to risk my life, after all. "And thank you. When the time comes, I'll call you."

"And I'll answer," I said. I worked up the strength to feign a smile. "What else are we Gryffindors good for?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"You really took those mirror curses to heart," Bill commented, glancing around Number 14.

The Weasley Cursebreaker had dropped by unexpectedly during one of his rare visits home. I hadn't exactly been overrun with business, so I had plenty of time to entertain him—even if his stories about his adventures in the tombs of Egypt were providing most of the amusement.

"Yeah, with a bit of tweaking they were quite versatile," I said, following his gaze around the shopfloor. I knew the feature that had prompted the observation was the front window. Once I had settled in properly, I'd bewitched the display window—and all the other windows in my flat too, to be precise—with a variation on the same curse that had ensnared me for several hours all those years ago. The effect I was aiming for was that anyone attempting to break in via defenestration would find themselves ejected elsewhere via a reflective surface elsewhere. I'd tested it by throwing a stone at the window and found myself dropping from the top window of the house the moment the rock touched the glass. I'd prepared Cushioning charms in advance, of course.

"Only you, Poe," Bill said, shaking his head, bemused as I related the details of that particular incident. "I'm sure I don't even want to ask about what other abominations of reason and logic you have in place to protect your flat. If you used even half the spells you were planning to... okay, it still wouldn't be quite as dangerous as some of the tombs, but I still wouldn't want to take a chance."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I smirked and levitated a box of merchandise out of the backroom. An order had come in earlier via owl and needed assembly before being sent out for delivery.

"'As paranoid as Mad-Eye Moody', remember? You're a bloody lunatic, Poe." Bill still spoke in jest and the jab didn't hurt. It actually reminded me of the few proper exchanges I'd had with friends in my previous life. I smiled, unbidden.

Our conversation was cut short by the shop's entrance opening. The bells I'd bewitched and hung by the doorframe chimed a simple three-note melody as Frank made his way inside, a smile on his face and a paper bag in his arms.

"Frank, how are you today?" I said, waving to my neighbour from behind the counter. I saw Frank and Henry most days when I dropped by for a bite to eat. I'd been busy this morning though and not found time to visit the café.

"Well enough, Poe. Well enough. Care to introduce me to your friend here?" Frank still smiled, but his eyes had shifted to Bill, patently curious.

"Ah, this is Bill Weasley, an old schoolfriend of mine," I explained. "He used to tutor me in Potions. Now he does Cursebreaking for Gringotts."

"Ah, Cursebreaking! Such a glamorous profession. How do you do?"

"Quite well, thank you," Bill said, standing straight from where he'd been leaning against one of the display tables to shake Frank's hand. The older wizard had to shuffle the bag he carried to his other hand in order to accept, not that he seemed to mind much. "I've been in Egypt for the last while and am just passing through for week or so. Originally I was going to spend most of my time with my family, but they visited me in Egypt instead, so I decided to check up on Poe for a little while. How about you?"

"I'm doing alright, thank you. I run the café next door with my partner, Henry. I don't get out much these days, but there's usually a nice crowd passing through Whimsik so I get by. It's nice and peaceful here. Not like it used to be..."

"Long may the peace continue," Bill muttered fervently. Frank just nodded in agreement, a far-off look in his eyes adding to my suspicions about why he never talked about his family.

I kept quiet. I knew that the peace may not last much longer. With luck, things wouldn't get as bad as it did before... But how bad would it get? What would happen to quiet, happy, little Whimsik Alley if there Death Eaters in place of Aurors and Dementors on the prowl? How would Frank and Henry—aging but joyful—react to having to go through yet another war and a rekindling of one they'd thought long won at that?

I didn't talk much for the rest of the afternoon. Bill and Henry were used to my more pensive moods by this point and left me to my thoughts while they chatted about... Quidditch, politics, maybe a few other things? My mind dwelled on my workshop, where projects lay in various states of semi-completion. Projects that might give us a slight edge, might give my... Might give my friends a better chance of survival.

I had work to do.

—tN—tN—tN—

A silvery form passed through my workshop's ceiling and resolved into a shimmering phoenix before speaking in Albus's voice.

"As you requested, Poe, I am by myself in my office with the lighter you gave me on my desk. Whatever experiment you wished to perform, you may begin."

Message delivered, the Patronus dissolved, leaving the basement lit only by the enchanted flames dancing in their lanterns. I closed and tucked away my watch, no longer needing to count the minutes until I received Albus's confirmation. Instead, I turned my attention to the cigarette lighter on the table before me.

It was larger than most Muggle lighters and made of sturdy metal rather than plastic. It bore a distinct resemblance, in fact, to Dumbledore's Deluminator. This item was of my creation rather than the headmaster's though and was intended for a very different purpose. Picking it up, I flicked the lid open and ignited a steady flame. A discreet press of a switch hidden in the side of the lighter turned the flame a vivid green.

"Albus Dumbledore," I said, speaking as clearly as I could. The flame guttered and dimmed for a moment before flaring back to its previous brightness. "Can you hear me, Albus?"

"Indeed I can and very surprised to be able to do so, I can tell you." Dumbledore's voice sounded from the lighter as clearly as though he were standing in the room, the tinniness that had plagued earlier prototypes resolved by the judicious use of sound-modifying charms. "Would I be correct in saying that this is in some way derived from the Floo Network?"

"Yes, though it is of course entirely separate from it. Furthermore, this network will not permit the transmission of solid objects, only sound. At the moment anyway. I have theories about images and the like may be sent, but I've excluded them for the moment. For simplicity's sake."

"I see, I see, quite remarkable. The Floo Network has been employed as a means of communication as well as transport for quite some time. While effective, it does rather lack in the way of comfort. This is intended to be portable I take it, rather than rooted to one residence as its predecessor is?"

"Yes. I don't think the network will hold together if you try and make a call too far from Britain, but you can move around as freely as you wish within that range. I tested it via Apparition last week. I set up a wireless and set it playing on one end of an open connection and Apparated further and further away until I could no longer hear it. I'd wager you'd still be able to connect in Ireland or parts of France, but not much further."

"I see. And is it secure?"

"Yes. I think so. Since the network isn't as heavy-duty as the Floo network, it doesn't have as obvious an infrastructure to be targetted or manipulated. Theoretically, you could gain unauthorised access to the network if you can get a hold of one of these units, but I have taken extensive anti-tamper measures. I used flesh memories to bond each one with a specific person and memorise their name. Thereafter, only that person can open or operate any given lighter.

"I'm sure you'll want to examine the protections yourself and I understand that I'm unlikely to get the sample I sent you back in one piece, but I'm confident that it will not be easy to crack. There's a switch hidden on the bottom that will engage a privacy silencer, preventing anyone but the holder from hearing either end of the conversation."

"My, my, I wasn't sure what you would come up with when you said you were working on developing secure communications. Last I checked you were working on books and mirrors that could share their contents. This is a more recent innovation, I take it?"

"Yes. I'm still working on the others, but this was easier to implement en-masse in a shorter timeframe. I'll complete the others and release them for the general populace once we've dealt with... Him."

"Quite sensible. When you said you could make these en-masse, how many can you supply me with at the moment?"

"I made a baker's dozen of this batch, so I've got eleven more at the moment. I can have the same amount again in a week's time if you need them."

"Please do. I have yet to reconvene the Order in full, but it would be best to familiarise those that I have reached out to with these. Once I have verified their security, of course. Alastor will probably want to take a 'crack' at them as well, to borrow your terminology."

"Shall I set aside half a dozen for testing purposes then?" I said, putting on a weary sigh.

"That may be the wisest. Now, if there is no dire news that you need to convey—"

"There isn't."

"—then only one question remains. How do I turn the connection off?"

"Just close the lid and it'll stop," I said. "Have a good evening, Professor. I'll see you soon with the re—"

The flame went out and I shook my head. I'd invented the magical equivalent of a mobile phone and been cut off mid-sentence in the inaugural conversation. Ah well, it had to happen sometime.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Remember, be careful not to touch them if you aren't going to be using them," I cautioned Albus as I placed the package of lighters on his desk. "I considered making it possible to reset the owner, but decided it created an unnecessary vulnerability in the security."

"I like how this one thinks," Moody said, grinning slightly from where he stood in a corner of the room, eye spinning constantly.

It was a fortnight after my remote conversation with Albus and I'd brought the others I'd promised to deliver to Albus in person. When I arrived in the office, I'd been... Not overly surprised, since Albus had specifically mentioned bringing in the ex-auror to examine the devices. So I was moderately surprised to find him waiting alongside the headmaster.

The man had stayed silent as I entered the office and exchanged pleasantries with Albus, his magic eye roving over my form as if scanning for hidden threats. If that was his purpose, he was not disappointed. I had a number of devices and concoctions stowed in various places around my person for use in the event of a sudden disaster. I'd half-expected to be cursed where I stood for bringing potential weapons into the room and had my wand held ready beneath the package. It only occurred to me as I set the package down that it would not have concealed my wand from Mad Eye's gaze in the slightest. And yet I'd crossed the room unmolested.

"Rare of you to form such a positive opinion so quickly, Alastor," Albus said, glancing back at Moody and apparently as surprised as I was at the ex-auror's approval.

"I didn't say I liked them," Moody insisted. "I said I liked the way they thought. Too many fools with more brains than sense try and fit ten shades of wonder into every little bauble they make and all but hand the lot over to the first crackpot that comes along and thinks they're the second coming of Grindelwald. They're cautious too. Casting detection and privacy spells from the moment they came into the room without letting a bit of it show. Are you satisfied that we're alone and we're all who we say we are yet, kid?"

"No," I said. It wasn't strictly true. I was fairly sure that it was next to impossible to imitate the headmaster and take over his office without leaving obvious signs. And with the warnings from my knowledge of the previous timeline, Albus would have been sure to watch Moody closely for signs of an imposter. I had not specifically verified the identities of the two wizards though, nor had I checked the office thoroughly for spies or espionage.

Drawing my wand, I cast a series of cloudy spheres bouncing around the room to check for invisible or disguised objects. While they bounced unimpeded and found nothing, I swept my wand around the office several times, each time invoking a different detection charm. These ones were unlike my earlier attempts in that they abandoned subtlety in place of power, inflicting curious sensations on anyone touched by them. Finally, I drew another lighter from one of my pockets, this one distinct from the devices I'd bewitched for communication.

When I flicked the new lighter open, it expelled a cloud of cool steam instead of flame. The cloud spread rapidly over the entire office, thinning to the point of being just a faint haze as it stretched over the whole room.

Moody raised a brow, moderately impressed by my checks. I forestalled any conversation by sweeping my wand over the room—now filled completely by the steam—and cast one final charm of my own devising, slamming the lighter shut at the same time. The steam thickened in an instant to full opaqueness before fading into nothing as fast as it had thickened. I lowered my wand and replaced the lighter in my pocket.

"Well, that looked impressive," Moody said. "Let me guess, the little balls of cotton you shot all over the place are supposed to detect or disrupt hidden objects that they might hit. I only recognised half of the Detection charms you used, but they were probably a suite of spells looking for curses, hidden objects, deadly intent and possibly poison. And that last one... A privacy spell of some sort?"

"Mostly correct," I said, nodding. "The initial wave was indeed a scan for hidden objects or people. There were a few other detection spells than what you noted and I have yet to create a reliable means of detecting poison at range. And the steam is intended to 'seal' the room against any kind of eavesdropping or observation. To anyone looking in, this place will appear to be clogged with fog. It'll alert us to any attempt to break through and render legillimency almost impossible within its cover."

"Nice, nice, though you shouldn't have waited for a bloody invitation to use them," Moody said, eye now sliding over the walls as if looking for signs of the steam. "And you still haven't checked I am who I said I am."

"I did," I said. "One of those detection spells informs me if any wands in the room have recently changed ownership or are resentful of its present wielder. Yours is neither and matches the description of the wand attributed to you, so you are likely the real Alastor Moody. I will admit that I've yet to perfect a means of uncovering Polyjuice, so that'll have to suffice. That said, you could conceivably be under the influence of a potion or a spell to act against your nature. If so then... There isn't much I can do about it except to stay vigilant. Unless you'd consent to drink an experimental potion administered by an individual you yourself have noted for being crafty...?"

"Good, good," Moody nodded, seemingly in an excellent mood. "I'm still reserving judgement for the moment Albus, but their practices meet my approval. They've more bleeding sense than half the nitwits in the Ministry at the moment, at least."

"Well, if you'll permit Poe to stay a while, then perhaps we could review some details that I would rather not leave this room?" Albus suggested. "It would be a shame to out the most excellent privacy screen Poe erected to waste, after all."

—tN—tN—tN—

"As things currently stand, Voldemort may return to power within the year," Albus said, hands steepled and eyes fastened on some unseen point far beyond me. "Harry has confided in me and his godfather that he has begun to experience visions from Voldemort, accompanied by sharp pain from his scar. This indicates that Voldemort has already attained a physical body of some sort and is active in Britain once more."

"That's sooner than expected," I said, ignoring the glare I knew Mad Eye's mad eye was likely directed at me while the man himself looked straight ahead. "Pettigrew escaped at the end of last year, ran the moment he realised Sirius was in the castle, but I would have thought it'd take longer than that for him to locate his master."

"I believe he had help," Albus said.

"Who? Most of the Death Eaters not in captivity would have no reason to go with Wormtail no matter what unless... Barty Crouch Senior was arrested around the same time that his sentence was overturned, wasn't he? His house elf would probably have been removed from the property as well, which means..."

"Indeed." Dumbledore grimaced. "I quite forgot to mention that particular detail to the Ministry and by the time it occurred to me, the house was already empty. We found evidence that the house had been searched thoroughly and an unknown amount of items are missing."

"So he's well-funded as well," I muttered. "And unlike Pettigrew, he has no shortage of intelligence or devotion."

"My apologies for interrupting your grand ruminations, but who in the bloody blazes are you both talking about?" Mad Eye said, his real eye twitching.

"My apologies, Alastor, with how stretched I am these days I have quite lost track of who has already been informed of what," Albus said, bowing his head briefly. "We speak of Barty Crouch Junior. To cut a long and sad story short, his dying mother persuaded his father to trick the guards into letting him exchange their places. She passed away while under the effects of Polyjuice while he has remained locked in his father's house under the effects of the Imperius curse."

"That fool," Moody all but snarled. "So quick to make things neat and final and messing everything up royally in the biggest possible manner when it actually counts. Fine, if little Barty is at large, what does that mean?"

"It means that Voldemort has at least one loyal and highly capable follower at his command," Dumbledore continued. "I have done some research and concluded, with some details provided by Harry's visions, that Voldemort's next priority is likely to complete his resurrection. I believe I have ascertained the most likely ritual to do so, as much as it has pained me to peruse such dark magic. I have already arranged a discreet means of keeping watch over the most likely location for the ritual, the graveyard in which Voldemort's father is buried. His bones are among the key ingredients. The others include the flesh of a willing follower, which he will likely source without difficulty and the blood of an enemy."

"Well, that narrows it down nicely," Mad Eye said, both eyes rolling impressively.

"Indeed. Knowing him as I do, however, it is most likely that he will attempt to specifically use Harry's blood for the ritual. In part because of the symbolism that would assuage his injured pride and in part because he believes it would allow him to circumvent the protections that run through Harry's blood."

"And will it? Let him get at the boy, I mean."

"Indeed it would, though not without some considerable side-effects on both parties."

Moody fell silent then, deep in thought. I used the quiet to address the headmaster.

"Are you quite sure that none of the staff members have been subverted or replaced? Or the students, for that matter?"

"I have checked the staff myself and do so again frequently. Checking the entire student body on a regular basis is neither practical or appropriate, so I have instead devised of a more elegant solution."

Dumbledore reached beneath his desk and pulled out an old and folded piece of parchment. I blinked before placing it and grinning.

"That would work, but what if you aren't checking the Map? It wouldn't take long to sneak in and steal a student if he took the guise of a professor. A smash and grab kidnapping, you could call it."

"Indeed, which is why I have, over the last few weeks, replicated the spells used to expose people's identities and transferred them to something else." He nodded towards one of the silver instruments on his table, specifically a bell hanging by itself in midair. "It will ring if Barty Crouch, either of them, enter the castle or if anyone else suspected of being affiliated with Voldemort attempts to do so."

"Excluding Professor Snape and including Riddle himself, I presume?" I asked, a note of snarkiness slipping in.

"Quite, along with a few other, more subtle loopholes."

"What about Hogsmeade? If Sirius gave permission, which he probably did, then Harry visits semi-regularly, right?"

"Also dealt with. Anytime a Hogsmeade weekend comes up we deploy additional aurors and hit wizards to the village for student safety. They are informed to keep an especially close eye on Harry and anyone acting suspicious around him."

"'Acting suspicious' around the Boy Who Lived? Oh sure, I can't think of anyone who'd do that who wasn't out to kidnap the boy. No other reason in the world." Moddy broke from his contemplation to scoff the concept. I thought he had a point, but I was also reasonably sure that trained hit wizards and aurors would be able to tell the difference between a fan and a dark witch. Probably.

"To be safe, however, we have arranged a number of measures to prevent the boy from being taken easily and to find him quickly if he is. If you have anything to add on that front then I would be most interested to know about it, Poe. You always come up with the most fascination solutions to problems."

"I—I think I know one or two things that may help," I said, searching my memory. "I'd need to talk to Professor Snape about some of it. And to Mister Moody as well."

"Just call me Mad Eye, everyone else does," the ex-auror barked, "and what do you need me for?"

"The usual methods used to track people and how to break them. So I can work around them and use something that won't be found even if they are. I've read books, lots of books, but they're no substitute for experience. And you've got a lot of that, sir."

"Tracking, eh? I think I know a few tricks I used when I was back in the field. I'll meet you in the Entrance Hall next Thursday at half-past three. I'll be standing behind the third statue to the right of the Great Hall. The password will be 'diagrams wombats eat philosophy'."

"That's half-three in the morning, I take it?" I said, trying to put myself in the shoes of a paranoid ex-auror. Or shoe, technically.

"Correct," Moody nodded approvingly. "If you're this quick a learner then we should have things sorted before I run out of alternate rendezvous points."

"Hopefully," I said, turning back to Dumbledore. "Albus, do you mind if I...?"

"Please feel free to enter and exit the school as you wish, Poe," Albus said, smiling. "I have confidence in your ability to do so discreetly."

The rest of the meeting was devoted to discussing logistics, which I quickly lost track of. I spent the time turning over Dumbledore's request and thinking. There were a number of methods by which I could keep an eye on Harry, at least some of which could probably survive a degree of scrutiny. The problem was that they'd be relatively short-lived and require me to perform them myself.

Hogsmeade weekends weren't that often. I could afford to close up the shop or find someone I trusted to take over it on the days Harry was visiting. Besides, I liked Hogsmeade. It'd be enjoyable to pay a visit every now and then.

A/N: Credit where credit is due, the concept for portable Floo connections for communication purposes originates from Rorschach's Blot's _Make a Wish_. It's an interesting PoD fic with many original ideas and some fascinating worldbuilding. If you're tired of HP fics that never leave Hogwarts, then please take a look.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Hogsmeade on the weekends that the Hogwarts students were allowed out was always busy, even without the addition of numerous Ministry personnel patrolling the village. Even when it was one of the last Hogsmeade weekends of the year and students should probably have been worrying more about exams, the village thronged with people enjoying themselves. Even if a change in the weather for the worse sent a majority of the students back up to the castle once the Three Broomsticks was packed to capacity.

I was in attendance, as I had been for every single Hogsmeade weekend since my meeting with Albus earlier in the year. Each time, I had met privately with Harry beforehand and bewitched him with a combination of a charm and a potion—both of my own design, and meeting Moody's approval—in case all else failed and we lost track of him. Harry was quite friendly about the process, even if he did keep asking for an improvement in the taste of the potion.

Harry and I had what I would term a loose acquaintanceship. We were moderately familiar with each other's names, habits and interests—me moreso than him, for obvious reasons. As a known friend of the Weasleys who had helped him in his first year, I had managed to further secure a position as someone trustworthy. Or, that's how I interpreted our interactions. Harry usually asked about how my shop was doing, whether I'd made anything new or interesting recently and sometimes for advice on a problem with his schoolwork. In turn, I made small talk and asked about his classes and for stories from around the castle.

Our conversations were never long, not when Harry had to submit himself to the aurors' ministrations as well. He had confided in me that he had rather more faith in my methods than theirs, a compliment I took with a pinch of salt. Even with Lupin acting as a competent Defence teacher that year, I had my doubts about Harry's abilities as an assessor of anti-abduction or -assassination techniques.

As nothing had yet put either my or the Ministry's defences to the test, I had allowed myself to hope that I would be in for a pleasant day in Hogsmeade. The rain didn't bother me once I put up some charms against it. I found it quite relaxing.

The earth-shaking roar and tide of darkness that engulfed the street not two metres in front of me was not relaxing in the slightest.

—tN—tN—tN—

The first thing I did, the reflex I'd trained into myself, was to pull out the communicator lighter—name still pending—and call "Albus Dumbledore!". Albus answered immediately.

"Poe, I could hear the noise from the castle. What's going on?"

"There was an explosion and someone released a load of what I _think_ is Instant Darkness Powder, so I'm not sure of the extent of the damage. It seemed to have hit a few buildings though, so it's not looking good."

"And Harry? Is he still there?"

"I'm just checking now..."

I pulled out a different lighter—they were versatile devices—and flicked the flame on. The fire was a deep red but changed to a sickly green as I was watching.

"Harry's gone," I said, forcing myself to stay calm. "The Ministry's protections have been broken and he's unconscious, but he's alive."

"Understood. Stay in Hogsmeade and help where you can. I'll find Harry and bring him back safely."

"Bring help with you, Albus. And... To be on the safe side, warn Snape. If Riddle returns, then it'll look better if his spy answers on the first call."

"Good thinking. Now good luck."

The flame died and I began looking to see how I could help.

The spell and potion I'd used on Harry allowed me to tell his condition, whether he was protected or in danger and if he'd been removed from the area. But they could also be used to track Harry down. There were some prerequisites that I hadn't managed to iron out, but Albus could use a similar lighter to mine to triangulate Harry's rough location and then to override any anti-apparition or portkey defenses to reach him. It wasn't immediate, but it couldn't be blocked by any means I'd tested save for Hogwarts' defences. And even there Albus suspected it was possible.

It would take Albus a short while to track Harry down, time for his reinforcements to gather. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too late.

—tN—tN—tN—

Hogsmeade was a disaster area.

Several buildings had been levelled and people were still being pulled out of the rubble. Most were moving, some weren't. The scene as a whole could be mistaken for a Muggle terrorist attack save for the fact that bits of debris were floating through the air by themselves and a swathe of the village was covered in an impenetrable darkness.

Well, mostly impenetrable. I'd tracked down a sample of Peruvian Darkness Powder shortly after I'd graduated and subjected it to a number of tests. As expected, it resisted almost all forms of illumination and lacked any actual substance to be dispelled. It had taken me most of the time since then to create a charm that would burn away at the darkness bit-by-bit.

The tip of my wand flared purple and projected a cone of phantom flames ahead of me. Where they touched, the darkness melted away and let the healers, Ministry staff, and other assorted responders get at the newly-revealed rubble.

It was slow work. Albus was nowhere to be seen, presumably still searching for Harry. While I couldn't dispute his priorities, knowing as I did what the consequences of allowing Voldemo—no, Riddle—unfettered access to the boy were, his aid would have been greatly appreciated.

It took the better part of ten minutes to clear away the last of the darkness. My job done, I took a step away from the action, massaging my right arm. Holding my wand aloft for so long had not been fun.

It had actually only been twenty minutes since the alarm had first been raised and already the village was nearly entirely evacuated. The streets had been magically cleared of rubbles and those too injured to walk escorted away through a few heavily-guarded fireplaces. I knew that the response had only been so comprehensive because the Ministry was already on high-alert for the area, but it was still impressive.

The handful of Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade had been joined by over a dozen of their colleagues as well as over thirty more hit wizards. Unlike Aurors, who were trained for investigation and security—among other things—hit wizards were specifically trained for combat. While standards were significantly lower for the latter post, they still proved to be effective fighters and provided much-needed muscle in disasters such as this one.

We'd just hit the forty minute mark when a dull crack rang out. The Ministry witches and wizards going through the wreckage near me with assorted Dark Detectors started and turned towards the sound, wands drawn. It took me a moment to realise why.

Charms had been erected against Apparition into Hogsmeade, so for someone to Apparate in or out regardless of those...

I rounded the corner of the street alongside a half-dozen hit wizards. Unlike them, I froze when I saw the individual making his way towards us, towards Hogwarts. Unlike them, I recognised the narrow red eyes, the pale, hairless, skin and vicious expression.

 _Protego Maxima, Protego Horribilis, Salvia Hexia._ The set of defensive spells leapt silently from my wand while the most senior official accompanying me—a tall witch scarred from her left eye down to where the skin of her neck met the hem of her robes and beyond—began to speak.

"Drop your wand and surrender to Ministry custody immediately. This area is under the control of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement pending an investigation. You are trespassing and need to come in for question—"

I didn't recognise the curse Riddle cast, only that it wasn't the Killing Curse and was still powerful enough to nearly break through the shields I'd erected in one blast that left spots dancing in my eyes. Thinking quickly, I levitated a segment of wall from a nearby pile of wreckage into the space between us and Riddle. A second later it disintegrated in a flash of green light.

"Go," I said, but I was shoved to the side before I could see if any of them had responded. The wizard who pushed me—brown hair with a streak of grey, blue eyes, pale skin with a dusting of freckles, not much older than me—passed into the space I'd been a moment before and was struck dead by the Killing Curse that tore through my shields like they were paper. He dropped on top of me, his momentum carrying his corpse into me even as my legs gave out.

One of the other Hit Wizards grabbed my shoulder and dragged me to my feet, pulling me away to cover. I was still staring at the man that had died in my place, replaying the moment over and over. The other Hit Wizards were falling back beside me, firing spells in the direction of where they'd last seen Voldemort.

 _Fumos_ , I thought, creating a smokescreen between us without a second thought. I was running on autopilot, the creativity and spark Albus had praised me for entirely absent. A man had just died, had just been murdered in front of me.

The Hit Wizard tugging me cursed—the expletive variety rather than a spell—when I conjured the screen of smoke but was hushed by the witch who'd ordered Riddle to surrender.

"He isn't pulling any punches, those were Killing Curses. He brushed off fire from three different squads like we were children practicing with spark spells—" I hadn't noticed other squads attacking. "—We pull back for the moment while he can't see us, get behind a wall or something so he can't just pick us off. And you—"

She flicked me on the nose, the sudden sting startling me.

"Get up and get moving. We can mourn later, but only if we're alive. You have a wand and can clearly handle it, so help us out for Fontaine's sake."

I blinked and pulled myself free of the hand that had been holding me, looking around for something to use.

There were some more chunks of wall lying around. Casting quickly, I charmed them to float and made them invisible.

"I—I've ordered those to get in the way of any other Killing curses," I explained to the Hit Witch in charge, who nodded approvingly.

"Good, maybe they can take a few hits for us. For the moment though, we need to regroup. He was heading in this direction and we don't want to be caught flat-footed like that again."

—tN—tN—tN—

There had been around fifty combat-trained Ministry officials before Riddle appeared, along with about thirty other witches and wizards such as myself who were permitted to hang around the village and help with the cleanup. I knew I'd been vouched for by Dumbledore and was specifically tasked with eliminating the darkness, but I had no idea who the others were.

When the survivors gathered at the edge of the village, a barricade formed from rubble our only defence against the approaching Dark Lord, there were only forty Ministry witches and wizards and just over a dozen of the rest still alive and able to fight.

"It's him, it's He Who Must Not Be Named," one old warlock was whispering over and over, gnarled hands trembling. He still held his wand though and would hopefully be able to fight.

"Regardless of who he is, he needs to be stopped," the Hit Witch who'd been with me insisted, though she didn't look so confident herself.

"Precisely," the most senior Ministry official present cut in. Rufus Scrimgeour was as harsh and tough-looking as the books had painted him. While he had proved less than effective as a Minister for Magic in canon, he was one of the few present who didn't seem shaken by the prospect of facing Lord Voldemort himself. Here on the battlefield, he seemed to be in his element. "Our opponent may or may not be the risen Dark Lord, all we do know is that his skills and power are comparable. He will be here in a matter of moments and when he does, we must be ready." His eyes ranged over us all as if looking for something.

"Stevens, you're on Killing Curse duty. Disillusion yourself if it helps, just make sure you stay out of our way. Mable—" he gestured towards the Hit Witch who'd spoken before "—tells me that you were quick on the draw when you first found the target, found a way of reliably intercepting a Killing Curse. You need to keep doing that. Block as many of his curses as you can, leave the actual fighting to us."

I nodded and let out a ragged sigh of relief. Hiding and focusing only on defending everyone else... It was far from glamorous, but I could work with it. While Scrimgeour addressed the rest of the gathered witches and wizards I made myself invisible and stepped away from the group, charming more blocks and walls into the air as I went. I concealed them as well for good measure.

"First of all, no heroics. Nobody strikes out by themselves. If you do, you'll likely die. Stick to the plan, even if I die or your neighbours are killed, got it? Right, Hit Wizards and Aurors split into pairs and spread out. Alternate which one of you is attacking and don't hold back. If you blow his head off then it'll make the paperwork more difficult but I doubt anyone will be crying over him.

"The rest of you, fan out and hide as best you can. When you get a line of sight, start throwing everything you can at him. Don't take any more risks than you have to, prioritise cover over attacking. The more people he has to worry about at once, the better off we are. Now get moving, he wasn't walking quickly but he'll be here sooner rather than later."

—tN—tN—tN—

The barricade was blown apart within a minute of Scrimgeour's speech. Flaming pieces of rubbles were scattered across the whole area and I heard at least two people crying out in pain, presumably from being hit. I deflected the bits that threatened me fairly easily and devoted the majority of my attention to the confrontation before me.

Scrimgeour was unmoved by the display of power and stood directly in Riddle's path. Riddle, for his part, had stopped mid-stride to consider his latest obstacle. Head tilted, he examined Scrimgeour for a moment before slashing his wand down towards the auror. The curse—whatever it was—shattered whatever shield Scrimgeour had thrown up and forced him to take a step back. It was not enough to mask the barked order.

"NOW!"

A volley of curses broke out from the concealed witches and wizards to either side of the street. Poking their heads and wands around walls, window frames and broken doors, they fired curse after curse towards Riddle, who—for the first time since entering Hogsmeade—seemed vaguely perturbed.

The first round of curses rebounded harmlessly off Voldemort's own shield before it too was breached by an auror with a keen aim. Then the Dark Lord was duelling, his wand a blur.

Incoming curses were met with Voldemort's own and found themselves deflected or overpowered. The mad sorcerer was light on his feet, swaying around a Blasting curse before reflecting a Cutting charm back at its caster. With a flick of his wand, he launched another Killing Curse, directly at Scrimgeour, but was foiled by the masonry I dropped in its path. I could do little to save the witch who fell screaming to the ground while leaping from one spot of cover to the next.

The next victim was a Hit Wizard who overextended from his hiding place for a moment too long and had his head taken clear off of his shoulders.

Snarling like the lion he resembled, Scrimgeour hurled a renewed salvo of curses at Riddle. The heavy detonations as they collided with another shield could be felt from where I crouched, almost twenty metres away. I intercepted another Killing Curse before it could find its mark in the warlock who'd recognised Voldemort before, just as Scrimgeour battered through Voldemort's shield, his stream of attacks not abating for a moment.

I wanted to join in, to add my curses and hexes to the rest of the bombardment, but I held my position and concentrated on blocking the deadly green jets of light. I was a bit too slow off the mark when Voldemort cast a trio of the deadly curses in quick succession and was unable to stop the third spell from claiming the life of another one of the non-Ministry wizards who'd been caught up in the fight.

The ground around Riddle and by several of his attackers' hiding spots was beginning to crack and scorch from the heat of the spells being exchanged, occasionally rupturing entirely where a curse was deflected into the earth itself.

But we were losing. One by one Riddle was taking us out, slipping curses home through shields and cover. Another Killing Curse streaked under a plummeting piece of stone to claim an auror a minute later.

The battle was the longest I could ever remember having to fight, not that I'd been involved in many such operations. Already we'd been trading spells for over five minutes. Riddle still stood in the open, bold as brass, while we skulked from cover to cover and tried to catch him unawares. He'd whittled us down from about eighty to just under fifty and we were taking more and more losses.

I liked to think that we were making it difficult for him though. He was no longer smiling as he once had and his teeth were now set in a strained grimace rather than a grin as he fended off another powerful curse from Scrimgeour. Then he let out a sudden snarl and whipped his wand in a circle.

My ears popped and several others let out startled shouts as they were suddenly buffeted by a strong wind that had risen out of nowhere. Riddle was still duelling, but now he was smiling again a cold and cruel smirk. The already damaged buildings began to groan as the gale threatened to bring them down and either bury or expose us. I reinforced the buildings around me and they seemed to steady a bit, but I knew it wouldn't last if the wind continued to rise as I was sure it would. And I could do nothing about the buildings across the street.

It was only when I tried to stop Riddle from using another Killing Curse that I realised that he'd also blown away my levitating blocks.

With a scream, Mable—the Hit Witch from before—was torn from her hiding place. Reacting faster than my thoughts could, I blasted her with a Knockback Jinx and pushed her back through an open window and out of the path of a curse. Swearing silently, I threw myself down to avoid the curse that obliterated the wall over my head as Voldemort locked onto my location from the spell I'd just cast. No followup was forthcoming, so he either thought he'd killed me or assumed I'd moved further afield than I had.

I dragged myself back to my invisible feet and cast another spell to protect me from the wind. I'd never thought a book of meteorological charms would prove useful in a duel, although...

A standard Finite Incantatum did nothing to the whirlwind, not that I expected it to. A Charm for calming gusts did make it abate for a moment and I repeated it over and over, trying to will the artificial storm to stop.

The gale was reduced to a faint breeze but threatened to rise again if I let up for a moment. I was back on defensive duty, albeit of a different kind. Without the conjured cyclone harassing them, Scrimgeour and the others were able to rally and resume attacking Riddle. The short window before I'd found a counter to the wind had cost us dearly though and I counted at least three more corpses on the ground.

Curses flashed back and forth, scorching the ground and cracking walls when they missed their targets. The only thing we seemed to have on our side was that Riddle didn't seem to be gaining any further ground. He may not have been tiring, but I thought his strikes were becoming more pointed and vicious, sloppier.

He was losing his patience. He'd expected to be able to destroy any that stood against him with ease and had instead been fought to a standstill for some time now. While few would see a failure to kill a small army as being a sign of weakness, it wasn't the cakewalk that he'd hoped for. Perhaps that was why he kept himself to such relatively simple means of attack as curses rather than the spectacular displays of spellwork he'd employed against Dumbledore after the battle of the Department of Mysteries. Maybe he saw it as insulting to have to resort to such tactics against lesser opponents, no matter how many of them there were.

Whatever pride restrained his full might, it seemed to be rapidly falling to impatience and pragmatism. Forcing his attackers into hiding with another concerted barrage of spells, he bought a short window to cast something bigger, drawing back his wand in preparation for a grander gesture.

What horror he intended to unleash, we never found out. In that moment of relative quiet, there came a crackle of flames, of kindling springing to life and the thud of a weight landing on earth.

Before Riddle lay the path to Hogwarts, but behind him—newly emerged from phoenix travel—was Albus Dumbledore, wand raised and ready for battle.

—tN—tN—tN—

Alerted to his rival's arrival by experience or some sixth sense, Riddle spun to engage the headmaster—or possibly flee—his previous foes forgotten.

It was the opening we'd been waiting for the whole time.

Riddle's remaining shields collapsed in an instant under the weight of more than fifty curses at once. Fuelled by anger, grief and the need for justice, my allies' spells sundered Riddle's body apart. I had to avert my eyes from the gore after the sight of his head literally vaporising after being struck by a Reductor Curse.

I forced myself to look back, remembering what would likely come after Voldemort was slain anew.

Sure enough, as the giblets of meat splattered to the ground, a dark haze congealed in the space the Dark Lord once occupied. It staggered and swirled in the air before forming into the rough shape of a person, a ghost's poor-resolution cousin.

It was wrong, in much the same way that a dementor was. It was a stain on the world that demanded to be erased but defied all attempts to do so—as Scrimgeour discovered to his dismay when a series of spells passed through the shape ineffectually.

I didn't know what Riddle's shade planned to do next and I didn't wait to find out. As silent as every other spell I'd cast in the fight, my patronus took form. The silvery black and white cat—born from the laughter of my first Christmas in Hogwarts—stretched in front of me before pouncing on the wraith. It sailed through the air and sent the shade recoiling. Riddle fled my cat on its tail.

It was not a game of cat and mouse that I would win, I doubted that my patronus had the capability to actually capture or harm the spirit. But it drove him away from Hogsmeade, away from Hogwarts, away from me. And that was enough for the moment.

I sagged to the ground, my concealments failing and letting me back into view.

The air had fallen still once more, the storm breaking with its conjurer's demise. There was blood in the air and corpses on the ground. We had paid a terrible price but—somehow—we had won. I saw Scrimgeour go to meet Dumbledore and presumably ask him where he'd been while the others resumed their previous task of clearing up wreckage—albeit of a different disaster.

I fell to my hands and knees and threw up repeatedly on the ground until my vision swam with dark spots and I collapsed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

I was taken to St Mungo's. All of us still alive were. The fallen where quickly—but very respectfully—removed from the scene to be checked for signs of Dark Magic before being released to their families for proper burials. Funerals would be paid for by the Ministry. It probably wasn't Rufus Scrimgeour's job to answer the questions of random civilians but he did deign to do so once he'd finished debriefing me. He was waiting for me as soon as the Healers gave me a clean bill of health, right outside the door.

I'd answered his questions as best I could, explaining why Dumbledore had requested that I remain in Hogsmeade and then giving my account of what had transpired. To his credit, he barely reacted the first time I used the name "Voldemort" and not at all after that. He was brusque, but that was no more than I expected. Once I was finished and he'd answered my own queries, he thanked me for my contributions and released me to go where I wished.

I went straight back to Hogwarts. I sent a Patronus to Dumbledore first—in the event he was too busy to pull out the lighter—and Apparated just outside Hogsmeade. The village was still protected against Apparition or Disapparition, but the Shrieking Shack was far enough away to be unaffected.

The passageway from the Shack to the castle was an obvious weakpoint when the Death Eaters likely counted Pettigrew amongst their ranks, and so it had been shored up by the combined efforts of myself, Moody and Lupin earlier in the year. The passageway was still technically impassable, but I'd convinced Moody to permit a single backdoor through.

Pulling my communication-lighter, I flicked it open and whispered "One-eyed witch", engaging the privacy mode. The flame connected to the modified lighter I'd hidden in the passageway and allowed me to whisper the password "Draco Nox Lumiere Pisces". There was no real meaning to the password, seeing as it was generated using the date and a table I only looked at just before making the call.

Requiring a device that could not be stolen and a password that couldn't be memorised, the security was enough to pass Moody's standards. I transformed once I was in the passageway, flying along instead of running. It was an uncomfortable experience, flying in a dark, enclosed, space but I forced myself on. I reached the Whomping Willow within minutes and soared out of the end, passing through the wall blocking the entrance like it didn't exist. Outside, I avoided the Willow's thrashing branches with ease and carried on towards the castle.

I didn't bother to change back. I spotted an open window on the Hospital Wing and made straight for it. I thought it likely that Madam Pomfrey would insist, as the Healers in St Mungo's did, on checking over the rescue party. And the rescuee. If he was alive.

—tN—tN—tN—

Harry was alive. Unconscious, but alive and in good health.

It was remarkable, really, considering he'd just been subject to a second Killing Curse.

"He survived again?" I asked, my heart beating like a drum in my ears. Albus caught my eyes and gave a slight nod, followed by an equally slight shake. 'Yes, he survived, no I haven't checked the Horcrux yet'. Sirius, pacing back and forth, did not catch the message and instead came over to me and grabbed the front of my robes with both hands. My wand was already in my hand, but I didn't cast. The man looked like he was caught between a half-dozen different emotions.

"I want to hit you, curse you, hurt you," he said, his voice breaking on every other word, "for not protecting Harry, for letting them take him. And I know that doesn't make any sense, that you're the only reason we found him at all, but I'm... Thank you, and I'm sorry."

His grip slackened and he allowed Lupin to lead him away to a chair. Aside from the past-and-present Defence teachers and Albus, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, Moody and one other unidentified witch was present. I looked at the unknown person and noticed that her hair was slowly shifting between colours. Nymphadora Tonks then.

I hadn't known Tonks all that well while we were in school together. She was in the same year as Charlie, but the two didn't really interact. And, as he was the only person in that year that I had a connection to, I had no cause to interact with her either. I was confused for a moment about why Tonks was staring so intently at some bottle on a shelf but figured it out when I turned to listen to Madan Pomfrey's conversation with McGonagall and caught Tonks staring at me in the reflection on a nearby window.

Moody stomped over and snapped his fingers in her face, startling her into nearly falling over.

"Constant vigilance, girl!" he growled. "They caught you looking in an instant. Be more careful, don't let your gaze focus too much on any one spot and for goodness' sake watch out for mirrors and reflections."

While Moody berated his trainee—it had taken me far too long to remember that he'd trained her—I caught the tail end of Madam Pomfrey's explanation.

"—aside from a bruise on his chest and some minor scrapes from where he's fallen, he really is in perfectly good health. By all accounts, he is merely sleeping. There's no lingering Dark magic whatsoever that I can find. No curses, no poisons, nothing. My professional opinion is to let him wake up in his own time. If he takes too long there's a risk he'll fall into a coma, but that, hopefully, won't be an issue. I'll forcefully wake him before it reaches that point. You can stop fretting, Minerva. The boy will be fine."

"Thank you, Poppy, I realise that this is rather outside your usual duties."

"He's hurt. He's a student. I will take care of him. That is my duty and no less."

Amidst all this, Harry still hadn't stirred. I was reminded of the aftermath of Harry's defeat of a Riddle-possessed Quirrel in the original timeline. Afterwards, he was asleep for quite a while, at least long enough to have missed the Quidditch match. He'd recovered fine then by himself so, hopefully, he'd be alright now. I wasn't a Healer and there was nothing I could do to help.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Severus has returned and has examined Harry. His conclusions match Poppy's and he believes the boy will wake soon."

Albus was facing away from me and gazing out the window of his office. We were alone, save for Fawkes, our privacy assured in the same manner as during the first meeting with Moody. It was a time for conversations about which nobody else could ever learn.

I had learned from awkward conversation in the Hospital Wing that Barty Crouch (Junior) had masterminded the attack in Hogsmeade and abducted Harry to an abandoned chapel somewhere in Wales. There, the ritual had revived Voldemort in much the same manner as in the original timeline.

The Death Eaters were called and a duel commenced. And this time there was no Portkey to whisk Harry away to safety. Nothing to bear him away from the Killing Curse.

Snape had yet to deliver his report but I could infer that Priori Incantatem was invoked. The arrival of Dumbledore and the others just moments after Riddle had recovered from 'killing' Harry was too suspicious without something interfering to control the timing.

Voldemort and his followers fled rather than engaging with Dumbledore. Well, mostly not engaging. Fiendfyre, it transpired, made an artful distraction to keep even Albus occupied whilst Voldemort set his sights on Hogwarts.

"Riddle was killed again," I said. "Will he be able to return sooner or later?"

"Sooner, I fear. Tom has allies now. While his latest destruction was likely not part of his designs, he is likely to capitalise on the opportunity to prove his immortality to any that may still harbour doubts. This time, with the Prophecy apparently defeated, he need not be so picky about who he takes the blood from."

"What about the bones? We could sabotage the gravesite in Little Haggleton—"

"Too little, too late. The very same idea occurred to me but the grave was already desecrated and emptied when I arrived. I fear our surveillance may have worked against us and driven them to seek out parts unknown."

"With more bone at hand and an enemy's blood as readily available as the morning milk, all he has to do is ask either Crouch or Pettigrew to maim themselves. He may have already done so. Really, we should have gone after the bones in the first place instead of leaving them there with only light surveillance."

"Indeed. As ever, hindsight is a most wonderful curse," Albus sighed and turned to face me. His expression was shadowed, framed by the sunset behind him. His eyes still shone though, almost recalling a certain over-dramatic superhero. I pushed that association down and kept a straight face. Now was not the time for levity. "Voldemort has returned. I have convinced the Minister, for the moment, that he is unlikely to stay dead for any length of time, so we shall, hopefully, avoid a repeat of what happened last time. We have the full support of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, thankfully. What he experienced in Hogsmeade was enough to get Scrimgeour entirely on our side and with him the last few holdouts in the Department."

"Will it be enough?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.

"I do not believe so," Albus said. "Which is why I have decided, as you have likely guessed, to formally reform the Order of the Phoenix. I would like to extend an invite to you to join. You said before that you would try to fight, to contribute what you could. You have done so, protecting Harry and then clashing against Tom himself. I am asking you not to stop. It will not be easy. There is a high likelihood that you or someone you know will die before this is over. But I think your strength, your talents could make a difference, could—"

"No more, Albus." I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I purposely did not try to banish that faces that swam before me in the darkness. "I am aware of what you will require. I am aware of the risks. But my choice was made long ago." Too high a price had already been paid.

I opened my eyes and met the schoolteacher's gaze.

"Whatever it takes. I'm in."

—tN—tN—tN—

Grand declarations aside, there was little I could do. Harry woke up soon after that, thought his survival was kept a close secret. Riddle resurrected himself successfully and was sending out feelers to his Death Eaters and old allies. The Order was assembling and performing covert operations under Dumbledore's orders, trying to uncover more information. The Ministry publically acknowledged that You Know Who had returned but had stressed that he had been fought and driven back in Hogsmeade. They said nothing of Harry, focusing on their semi-victory.

I was awarded the Order of Merlin, second class, for my part in the battle, as was every other participant. It looked nice, hanging on the wall and gleaming like bloodied corpses didn't. I attended the funerals I could and send condolences to those I couldn't.

And I worked. I closed up the shop for a few days and threw myself into my workshop, barely remembering to come up for food and water. I started and scrapped over a dozen projects before finally burning off the last of my energy and resuming my everyday life.

That was when I discovered that business was booming. It turns out that a game that teaches people how to fight monsters, created by a hero who fought Voldemort and lived, is a popular product in a burgeoning war. I sent rush order after rush order to the printers and was barely able to keep stock on the shelves. There were owl orders coming in day and night, my shop was thronged with people queueing, and my defensive spells acted five times to eject thieves. That was just in the first week.

I felt dirty. There was a war on, a war I'd failed to stop. People had died, people I'd tried to protect. And I was profiting from it. The only bright side was that I'd finished the last of the 'gamebooks' a month earlier, so my customers wouldn't have any dangerously wide holes in their knowledge.

On a more irritating note, Rita Skeeter had attempted to snoop around for a story. In her Animagus form. Which I'd already taken precautions against. I mailed the beetle in a jar to the Ministry explaining what and who she was.

My research time was greatly curtailed, though my newfound prosperity was a definite boon to acquiring new books and materials to experiment with. I didn't have anything approaching the wealth of the Malfoys or even the Potters, but I had more than I knew what to do with. I stuffed the gold in a Gringotts account and only withdrew enough to pay for business expenses, or whatever new tome or item caught my interest. Hopefully, I'd still be alive to appreciate the nest egg I was building in a few years' time.

It was a frantic month or so. Then the attacks started.

—tN—tN—tN—

Riddle didn't play subtle for long. With the Ministry on guard and actively warning people against him, his more subtle machinations were stymied. With most of his followers under watch and aurors combing the country for any sign of him, he couldn't rest. So he went on the offensive.

The offices of the Daily Prophet were set ablaze, a Dark Mark overhead and its staff bleeding onto the cobbles of Diagon Alley. In the same attack, passers-by were killed and injured. The last few doubters fell silent and the panic set in.

The Ministry had lost its primary voice and magical London had lost their unofficial heart. Diagon Alley emptied almost overnight. Many of the store-owners remained, operating at reduced hours but their customers refused to linger, scurrying from one store to another, flinching at every shadow.

Whimsik was decentralised enough to be spared the worst of the effects, but my flood of customers slowed to a trickle. There was still a steady flow of people coming in each day, but they were scared now, begging for advice that might help them survive.

The Alley was quieter, darker. The children no longer played in the streets and the residents now met in the safety of their own homes. Frank and Henry took to taking their wares around to homes just to have company. I remained alone.

I liked the atmosphere of Whimsik, usually. I enjoyed living in a place that was alive and friendly. A place that was pleasant and comforting. It was no longer that place and I did not know many of my neighbours well enough to care to bridge the gap.

Surprisingly, I was treated like some bizarre oddity. People respected me and likely looked to me for protection—a very uncomfortable feeling—but also stayed away. I knew why.

I was a survivor of the Hogsmeade Massacre. I had fought the Dark Lord and seen him bleed. I was a target of the reborn Death Eaters. In the evenings the Wizarding wireless still broadcasted—for the moment—and reported disappearances, sudden deaths and daylight abductions. Ex-aurors, former Ministry personnel, people no longer in power but had stood against Voldemort before. The people that communities could rally behind if the Ministry fell.

Within a month of the school year ending, they came to my flat.

—tN—tN—tN—

A splash of icy liquid hit my face and roused me in an instant. It wasn't actually water, but a potion of my own design that would instantly rouse someone to full alertness from a natural sleep upon contact. I'd had a phial set over my bed to wake me... In the event I was under attack.

I rolled out of bed, gaze switching to the rack of dials I'd attached to the wall. The one on the far right was lit up, the needle edging upwards every second. That was the first line of defence, the protections on the doors to prevent people from forcing their way. As I watched, the second dial lit as someone tried the window instead. The glass would have bounced off the spell with ease and then sent the attacker somewhere else, spitting them out of a reflective surface elsewhere.

I didn't spend any longer watching the alerts. I shrugged into a travelling robe as fast as I could, summoning my ready-packed bag from under my bed. I checked the dials again and saw that they weren't even halfway through. I had a little time.

With a flick of my wand, my remaining personal possessions packed themselves into another bag—magically expanded—which chased after me as I ran from my bedroom. Once in the hallway, I could hear the sounds of spells colliding with the shopfront below. I paid them no mind and hurried to the room on the other side of my flat. With another flick, my books and files threw themselves off the shelves and dropped neatly into the expanded bag that slid under them just as the first book fell.

It took less than thirty seconds for my library to pack itself away. It was less than three minutes since I'd been woken by my alarm. A few seconds later the front door gave way. Beneath my feet, in the shopfloor below, my more active defences came to life.

A shimmering mist poured out of the dark lamps, flooding the shop and ensnaring those who entered in a mind-bending hallucination. It was nothing fancy, but it would distort their sense of scale, direction and ability to recognise people. It could be broken pretty easily... If I let them focus long enough.

Two-score bludgers dropped from the ceiling and began harassing the intruders. The suits of armour I'd stationed around the first floor came to life and threw themselves at the victims that lay before them. Most minor to moderate hexes and curses would slide off them, I knew. It would slow them down while they tried to bring to bear more powerful curses.

They were deterrents, obstacles. They'd distract and delay all but the most powerful of invaders—who I couldn't hope to do anything against, really—but were unlikely to actually defeat any witch or wizard with experience. They bought time though.

There was an Anti-Disapparition Jinx over my flat, to stop me from fleeing. The Floo had probably been disrupted as well. It didn't matter.

I stood in the middle of my empty library and disillusioned myself before pointing my wand at the ceiling. I silently invoked one last trick and cast the Rocket Charm on myself.

I was flung straight up through first the ceiling, then the roof, my bags clutched tight in my left hand. My pre-prepared escape route let me pass through the top of my flat like a ghost for just a few moments. Then I was outside in the night air, looking out over London as it slept. And, of course, I was still rising.

My Rocket Charm carried me up a few dozen feet before I replaced it with a more normal Hovering Charm that held me in place in mid-air. I took the opportunity to tuck away my bags inside my robes—I was nervous about extending pockets in my clothing for prolonged periods of time, especially with hasty casting, but it was an emergency—and downed a potion I had ready. Then I stopped hovering.

As a raven, I flapped my wings and swooped through the air, dark feathers invisible against the sleeping sky. Ravens did not typically fly by night, but the potion I'd downed would let me do so for about an hour before the effects wore off. I had until then to make my way to Grimmauld Place based on the single visit a month earlier when Dumbledore had entrusted me with the location.

When the door to my flat failed, a bell had rung in Dumbledore's office. He'd know what had happened and where I'd gone and would alert Sirius before I got there. If Sirius was home.

I put aside my doubts and worries and forced myself to keep flying. I had a long distance to cover.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Grimmauld Place was—ironically enough—no longer at all grim.

Albus had assured me that the house was thoroughly searched and scoured in the years following Sirius's release. Unlike in the original timeline, the cleaning efforts were not carried out in secret but with the aid of professionals trained in dealing with infestations of dark magic.

Thankfully, most of the layers of security were left intact allowing the house to once more be the headquarters of the Order. Once it was placed under the protection of the Fidelius Charm, anyway.

As Sirius led me to my room among the upper floors I examined the walls I passed. Where once they had been dirty, peeling and 'decorated' with various relics of the Black family history, the walls were now clean, whole and coloured a pleasant shade of pink with gold-coloured edgings. I quite liked it, though I preferred my flat.

"And here's your room," Sirius said, stopping to open one door and flamboyantly gesture inside. Harry's godfather was in a better place mentally and emotionally than he had been originally, something that showed in the occasional flairs of humour other than sarcasm. I smiled in thanks and stepped past him, withdrawing my luggage from my coat pocket.

My assigned bedroom in Grimmauld Place was almost half the total size of my own flat, much to my dismay. I had a window overlooking the square outside covered by clean white curtains. The floor was made of dark, wooden boards that felt warm to the touch while the walls were covered in rose-patterned wallpaper. The bed itself was king-sized with a canopy, all done out in shades of red and gold.

I also had a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a desk—complete with a comfortable chair—all picked out in the same shade of wood. I set my luggage down on the floor with a smile and set it to the task of unpacking itself with a tap of my wand.

"Thank you, Mr Black," I said, turning back to my host. "This looks quite comfortable. Far moreso than my own place, to be honest."

Sirius laughed, a loud barking sound.

"Say what you will about my family, but they knew how to live in comfort. When I moved back in I upgraded even further, so it can be quite swanky. Definitely a step up from Azkaban I assure you." Sirius gestured expansively as he talked, carefully masking the hate that had shone momentarily at the mention of his family. He was still hurting, that was for certain, but he was healing. It was a good sign, I hoped. "Incidentally, if I recall our last meeting correctly, you're rather good with security spells?"

"I like to think so, why do you ask?"

"Well, as sound as the house is, I don't feel entirely comfortable relying on my dear father's protections. Dumbledore has given the place the all-clear, but..." He shrugged.

"But you'd rather be safe than sorry?" I guessed. I actually suspected the real reason was a combination of being less reliant on his family's legacy and wanting to find some grounds with which to interact with me.

"Exactly!" Sirius smiled again, more lightly this time. "But let's talk about this downstairs. To the kitchen, perhaps? I doubt you've had a chance to eat yet."

I acquiesced gladly—to my stomach's relief—and followed him back down the stairs.

This time, as we trekked through the house, I examined the hallways with a different purpose in mind. Rather than looking at where the previous ornamentation wasn't, I looked with an eye to how I may go about adding security features. Various Dark Detectors at regular intervals to start with of course, but the hallways were carpet, which presented an opportunity to place some of what I considered to be a magical cross between a pressure pad and a land mine.

There were occasional alcoves in the hallways that I imagined might once have held vertical display cabinets or maybe statues. Now they could potentially hold statues bewitched to come to life in defence of the house on command. That could be a hard sell to Sirius, however. Setting that aside, I began to think on what spells could be put on the perimeter and broached the topic to my host.

By the time we reached the kitchen, I was in the middle of explaining one of the more interesting spells I'd put on my own flat, one that linked two portals on opposing sides of a building—such as windows or doors—such that unauthorised entrances through one would step straight out of the other. For best effect, it should deposit them from a higher level and let them land in some kind of pre-prepared trap. In the case of my flat, intruders were dumped out of my bedroom window into a tub of water that froze solid upon someone landing in it. It only really worked properly the first time, but the principle was sound.

Sirius laughed uproariously at that idea, drawing a glare from Kreacher as he scuttled in with a tray of sandwiches.

"Merlin's beard... You have met Mad Eye already, right?" Sirius eventually managed to gasp out.

"Indeed I have," I said, trying not to be too embarrassed at the older wizard's amusement. "He had some very good pointers. We had a good discussion about how to properly conceal more, ah, active defences. I believe he applied some of the techniques I suggested to his dustbins."

"Only Mad Eye would rig his dustbins to attack people wandering onto his lawn," Sirius remarked, still grinning while swinging back on his chair.

"Well, to be fair, it isn't actually a bad idea. Dustbins are ubiquitous enough that even a wary intruder is unlikely to give them a second glance. Moreover, they have sufficient size to be an effective brute-force deterrent and have the added bonus of creating a racket in the process. A simultaneous attack on an intruder and an alarm to notify the owner."

Sirius swung the front two legs back onto the ground. He was still grinning but seemed to be keeping better control of it now.

"I stand corrected then. Clearly, there're two of you that would come up with an idea like that."

I just sighed and selected a ham and cheese sandwich from the tray, nodding thanks at the house elf, who summarily ignored me as much as Sirius was ignoring him. While Sirius's treatment of Kreacher was far from ideal, it was a good sight better than being verbally and physically abusive, as he had in the original timeline.

"Fine, fine," Sirius chuckled after I glared at him for a few minutes whilst I ate. "I guess you're more than entitled to a touch of paranoia considering what happened to your place. While I still don't particularly care for this house, I like the sound of some of your ideas. What do you say we get to work after this?"

"Getting restless?" I asked, one brow arched. Truthfully, I could sympathise. I'd never been able to go long without finding something new to pour some time and effort into. Being cooped up in a house like this on-call for the Order after so many years in Azkaban... Shoring up the house defences was the least I could do to help keep him busy.

"Just a bit." Sirius smiled like he was joking, but I had my suspicions.

"Alright then. You've got a lot more space here than in my own place and I've got some fun ideas I want to try."

I took a few minutes to polish off the rest of the sandwiches then I stood, Sirius echoing me. I drew my wand and good feel a smile etching itself across my face. Perhaps Sirius wasn't the only one who was a bit restless. And the prospect of further fortifying the townhouse really did sound quite fun.

—tN—tN—tN—

"What's it like, to fly? As a bird, I mean. I've used brooms, motorbikes and even a flying carpet before, but never as a bird."

Sirius and I were very different people in many ways. So much of his personality had never moved on from his rebellious teenager phase—not helped by the decade in the company of depression-inducing demons—that he had difficulty coming up with activities or conversation topics that weren't rooted in some desire to spite his parents.

When he wasn't busy doing work for Dumbledore, we talked about magic and the war, swapping stories about Hogwarts and its various secrets. Those were safe subjects, ones we were both knowledgeable on—albeit from different perspectives—and willing to debate with. Every now and then though, Sirius would ask some other question that was on his mind.

"It's... easy in one way and more work in another," I said. "I've never felt at home on a broomstick, not really, but when I take my other form... Flying becomes the easiest thing in the world. It's like finally learning how to walk properly after a life spent walking on your hands. Except not really, because humans can't fly by themselves but I can't think of a closer metaphor..."

"No, I get it," Sirius said, nodding. "I'm an Animagus too, remember? I know what it's like to slip into another shape and have everything flipped around. Of course, I can't fly so I can't compare with your specific experience, hence the question."

"Fair enough."

The conversation petered out as I returned to my work and Sirius to his book. Grimmauld Place was quite expansive for a townhouse but we tended to gravitate to the kitchen when we were at a loss. It was more homely than the rest of the house, even with the renovations removing the worst of the Blacks' influence. At present, I had many sheets and scrolls of parchment spread across the table in front of me.

With my shop's destruction, my business had switched entirely to a mail-order service. For obvious reasons, I wasn't in a position to create figurines and enchanted boards, but the books only needed to be ordered from the printers. The problem was that at this point people were using them more as reference guides for real life rather than for a game. While I'd made sure when writing them that they could serve that purpose, I was taking the opportunity to make a dedicated set of guides for practical self-defence. Most of the work had already been done, I just needed to edit it and insert some real-life specific advice. And some sections had to be created from scratch wholesale.

It was a big job and I had time on my hands, so I kept at it, occasionally bouncing questions off of Sirius. My work was disrupted, however, by a rare visitor that afternoon.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Wotcher, folks!" The grey-haired elderly lady at the front door's identity was revealed by her casual greeting. Tonks reverted to a more familiar visage of a purple-haired girl once in the entranceway while Kingsley made a more sedate entrance behind her. "You made some changes, didn't you? Stuff looks different like they've been shuffled around. And you've got stuff hidden there, and there, and there. New security?"

"Quite," I said, shutting the door and relocking it with a wave of my wand. "Though I will note that you missed more than half of the different detectors I've put up for deceit or Dark magic. I'll have to rehide those ones now as well before Moody comes to do an inspection. Thanks for the help!"

"Uh... Sure, no problem. You're really taking the security on this place seriously, aren't you? I mean, we're already under a Fidelius Charm, right?"

"Fidelius Charms are powerful but not infallible," Kingsley said, his deep voice brooking no introductions. "Even with a wizard as capable and trustworthy as Dumbledore as the Secret Keeper, there are other ways in which the protection can be subverted by a determined enemy.

"The Imperius curse and memory charms can turn otherwise trusted people into sleepers, ready to act once inside the house. Skilled impersonation, an art that you are quite familiar with, can hoodwink even Dumbledore into releasing the secret to unsavoury individuals. I have seen the plans that Poe had for this house and they should close off those few holes left in the defences. If they are effective, that is."

"We've been testing them as well as we can for the past few days," I said, rubbing my arm where one of those tests had left bruises. "In between finishing the remodelling and duelling practice, that is."

"Duelling with Sirius, huh?" Tonks said, looking towards me and nearly walking into a standing case. "What's that like? I mean, I've heard you're no slouch, but Sirius has a lot of experience."

"Not as much as you'd think," I countered. "He has spent about a decade of his life in Azkaban, leaving him with only a few more years of experience as an adult wizard than me. We're actually pretty evenly matched, much to his irritation. I'm not sure why he's so surprised, he did teach me for my NEWTs."

"Sirius has been busy making up for lost time since his release," Kinglsey said, lowering his voice to a faint rumble. "While he has been undergoing therapy, he's been spending almost as much time honing his magical skills back to his previous level. I understand even Dumbledore helped him through the early stages."

Giving Sirius remedial lessons in magic after his release and pardon had been my idea. Since no good deed goes unpunished, most of my bruises—spread across my lower back and right leg—were the product of sparring with Sirius. I consoled myself with the knowledge that Sirius had definitely been limping afterwards and kept bumping into objects. Targeting his eyes was a bit of a low-blow, but it'd wear off within a day and—more importantly—I'd already bewitched my own glasses to protect me.

"Turn left up here to get to the kitchen," I said, catching Kingsley before he could go the wrong way. He blinked at me, confused.

"It wasn't that way before. Did you move the kitchen around?"

"No, just the path taken. I'll explain it later, just be aware that navigating the house is a little different now. Oh, and in the event of an invasion, the intruders will be caught in repeating sections of corridor until they find a way to break the spell. It's quite fun, actually. And we managed to fit in some pitfalls on the upper floors in case they get that far."

"You're really paranoid after what happened to your shop, aren't you?" Tonks said, bemused as I listed the new tricks I'd placed on Grimmauld Place.

"You have no idea." I made sure to keep smiling the rest of the way to the kitchen.

—tN—tN—tN—

"How has your summer been so far, Harry?" I asked. I'd taken my usual seat at the breakfast table only to realise that I was opposite from Harry, who must have arrived during the night. He was focused on his own breakfast, so I fixed myself a bowl of porridge before trying a conversation.

"My summer's been pretty good so far. My family were a bit upset at having to go under so many spells for their own safety, but they got over it eventually. It's been pretty quiet apart from that, just me, Hedwig and an auror checking in on me each day. How about you?"

"My shop was attacked by Death Eaters," I said, waving my wand to clean up the toast Harry had spat halfway across the table. "Came in while I was sleeping and set the place on fire once they figured out I'd already left. It didn't burn much of course, I take my fire safety seriously. I've lost all my stock and will have a tonne of repairs to do though. But they didn't get at my workshop or anything valuable, so I'm fine."

"I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't know," Harry said, stuttering over his own attempts to apologise. I waved a dismissal.

"No need. It's not your fault and besides, I'm fine. We knew there was a chance I'd be a target after what happened in Hogsmeade, so we were ready for it. I'm just grateful that the attack came at night rather than when I was dealing with a bunch of customers as well."

"Ah, I see then." We ate in silence for a few minutes before Harry broke the quiet.

"So, what have you been up to since then?"

"Well, I came straight here after I left Whimsik—that's the Alley my flat's in—and met Sirius. Since then I've been helping to put the finishing touches on the house. Sirius didn't want to be too reliant on the protection that came with it you know, so we've been bouncing ideas around for the past while. Even Moody was impressed, last time he visited. Well, I think he was impressed, it's hard to tell with him."

"Moody?" Harry asked. I was confused for a moment before realising that Harry hadn't actually met Moody in person yet, due to being unconscious after Voldemort's resurrection. In the original timeline, he didn't even meet the imposter-Moody until he started his fourth-year.

"Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody. A very experienced, very paranoid, ex-auror. Was a member of the original Order of the Phoenix during the first war and brought a lot of Death Eaters before the Wizengamot. He trained Tonks as well, I think."

"Tonks?"

"Sirius's cousin. She graduated the year before you started at Hogwarts and went straight into auror training. Almost finished her training now, I believe. I'd give even odds that she was several of the aurors that were assigned to check on you if not all of them. She's a Metamorphmagus, you see. She can change her appearance at will."

"Is that like being an Animagus?" Harry asked, rubbing one finger over his scar. Even if it would no longer pain him, I could understand wanting to hide it. Although that begged the question of whether or not it would be possible to remove the scar now that the Horcrux had been expelled? It was still the product of dark magic, so it might not be... I decided to raise the topic with Dumbledore. Then I realised that I'd been staring into space for the last while, much to Harry's consternation.

"No, it's not like being an Animagus at all," I said, coughing to hide my embarrassment. "Anyone can become an Animagus with study and patience, but you have to be born a Metamorphmagus. They're very rare too, which is part of what makes Tonks special. Believe me, I've checked and double-checked. There's no learnable skill like it outside of particularly old and dubious records. I did a paper on the subject for my Transfiguration NEWT."

"Ah, nevermind then." Harry went back to eating and I winced internally. I'd messed up somehow.

The awkward silence was broken by the arrival of Sirius. Harry and his godfather instantly struck up a conversation about broomsticks and I let myself fade into the background.

Why were conversations so hard to get right?


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Shortly after Harry's arrival, the Weasleys also relocated to Grimmauld Place. I was confused at first at why they'd waited before it hit me. Mrs Weasley had been responsible for the 'cleaning' of Grimmauld Place in the original timeline and for cooking. With the house properly renovated already and Kreacher in a more cooperative mood, there had been no need for her to intervene. Not until Harry arrived. I doubted an army of aurors would be able to keep Molly Weasley from making sure that Harry was properly fed and watered.

Hermione dropped in the day after the Weasleys, bringing the house up to the original timeline's population plus one. Oh, and Percy hadn't split from the rest of them this time, meaning he visited semi-regularly in between working his day-job and managing his own flat. We didn't get many chances to talk, but I wasn't too bothered by that. I had plenty to occupy myself with.

Harry's survival was still under close wraps, so his shopping for school supplies was carried out by Sirius and I under disguise two weeks before term started. He'd thanked us profusely, insisted on repaying us from his own vault, and then stowed them away to not even be thought of until school started back. I had to remind myself that few students were as studious as myself and Hermione were.

The Quidditch World Cup was held elsewhere that year, the organisers put off by the budding war, much to the disappointment of many. Without that to look forward to, the younger Weasleys and Harry had found other ways of amusing themselves. After Molly scolded them for the fifth time in three days for causing a ruckus in the house—Sirius just laughed in the background—I took pity on them and worked an Undetectable Extension Charm on one of the unused rooms. It took a day or so to make sure it was safe and secure, but Grimmauld Place soon sported its own indoor Quidditch pitch.

Molly spent a few minutes gaping like a goldfish while her charges ran for their brooms. She looked at me as if contemplating something before shaking her head and walking off to the kitchen.

"So long as it keeps them out of trouble," she shouted back at me. I just shrugged and went back to my reading. Albus had sent me some interesting volumes on curses that I wanted to peruse. I was almost at my room when I was accosted again.

"I didn't think you played Quidditch."

It was Tonks, leaning against the far wall. Her hair was shifting between various shades of blue, purple and—of course—pink. Her eyes were focused on me, thoughtful but not bothered.

"I don't," I said.

"Then why did you go to the bother of bewitching a massive space for the purposes of playing it? It's a lot of effort for something you're not going to use. And besides, I thought you were busy with your own stuff these days? Books and letters and exploding doormats and top-secret-hush-hush plans?"

"It's good practice," I said, a bit more defensive than I'd intended to. "I've never created a space that size before, so it was a useful experiment. Besides..." I broke off and gazed at the wall for a moment, refusing to meet her gaze. "There's a war coming and if we can't win it fast enough then they'll be caught right in the thick of it. They should have the opportunity for fun while they can."

"Fair enough," Tonks said, straightening and settling on a wavy pink hairstyle. "I guess I'll see you around then. And Poe? For what it's worth, you're a pretty nice guy."

She never saw it, but I couldn't help but smile after that. It wasn't something people told me very often.

I was in a good mood for the rest of the afternoon, reflecting on the irony that within a few weeks the Quidditch pitch I'd so carefully created would fall into disuse once more. I didn't mind. It really was a useful experiment, after all.

—tN—tN—tN—

Molly returned to the Burrow once the children had gone back to Hogwarts. Sirius and I mourned the loss of her cooking over tankards of Butterbeer.

Outside the walls of Grimmauld Place, magical Britain was breathing a collective sigh of relief as Harry Potter was sighted alive and well for the first time since the attack in Hogsmeade. Fudge had been browbeaten into not saying a word on the matter, letting us keep it quiet until we were sure that Harry was okay.

The revelation was old news to a select few, cause for celebration to most, and a source of unbridled rage to one Tom Riddle. Riddle had discovered his archenemy's survival even before it broke to the collective public, fed to him by his latest spy in Hogwarts, Barty Crouch Junior.

I resisted the urge to slam my face into the table when Albus told me how he'd accosted 'Moody' the day after the Opening Feast and uncovered the impostor. It was just like it was in the original timeline. Crouch had ambushed Moody the week before school started and locked him away to milk for disguises and information. Moody's abrupt cessation of visits to Grimmauld Place had roused our suspicions and made me glad I'd persuaded Alastor to temporarily surrender certain memories following strategy meetings in Dumbledore's office.

Albus had set Moody free and then—between them—they swapped the situation around. Moody was taking his normal classes, but he was also playing the part of Barty Crouch on a mission from Voldemort, feeding Riddle information from within Hogwarts. Crouch himself was a tough nut to crack, but sustained interrogation—I tried not to think what that might have entailed—by some trusted aurors revealed that he had been sent to kill Dumbledore.

Ironically, that was just about the most competent strategy that Riddle had employed in either timeline. Going straight for the biggest threat with a talented assassin as opposed to a teen still in school. The only downside to the situation was that Snape was forced to play an even harder part than usual, though he claimed to be managing just fine.

When Riddle thought he had successfully killed Harry, he lost interest in the prophecy, the details of it no longer relevant. With Harry's survival, he abruptly switched to pursuing the recorded omen with unnerving fervour. It would have been much more worrisome if we hadn't destroyed the prophecy and replaced it with a cursed fake. It probably wouldn't take Riddle out, but we'd take any advantage we could.

Thankfully, Riddle hadn't issued Crouch/Moody or Snape any orders with regards to Harry, beyond observing him closely. He probably wanted to know the full details of the prophecy first, and he'd have a harder time getting them than in the original timeline. Even leaving aside the fact that the prophecy was a fake, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had secretly struck a deal with some other countries to each house an imprisoned Death Eater or two until the War was over. The Lestranges and—more importantly in this instance—Rookwood were out of Riddle's reach.

If he wanted to retrieve his most loyal and powerful lieutenants, he'd have to find them first, then travel far from Britain and his power base to confront whatever defences other countries had on their maximum-security prisons. Leaving him with only the few that had escaped Azkaban through lies or gold, and fresh—therefore inexperienced—recruits. And all of the Death Eaters that slipped away the first time were now under watch by order of Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour. "For your own protection" was the excuse they came up with, citing the targetting of the Malfoys with the Imperius curse in the first war.

If Riddle wanted to break into the Department of Mysteries, he'd have to do it himself. And the more he acted according to our predictions, the better our chances of winning.

—tN—tN—tN—

I descended to the kitchen one morning to find it already thronging with people. Sirius, Remus, Percy Weasley, Tonks, Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones were in attendance. Surprisingly, Percy seemed to be at the centre of attention, fielding questions from the others. I stood in the doorway and put the pieces together.

Something important had happened, something to draw the members of the Order together to assess the situation. And if Percy was the centre of the conversation then it was something to do with the Ministry. Since Tonks wasn't being questioned, it wasn't anything immediately relevant to the aurors' department. It could have been almost anything else considering Percy's position as a Secretary in the Minister's office.

"Voldemort went after the Department of Mysteries?" I asked as I entered the room, drawing the attention of the others for a moment.

"He did, how did you know that?" Tonks said, brow creasing. "Percy only arrived with the news half an hour ago."

"It seemed logical," I said, waving my wand to set the breakfast things in motion for me. "I mean, we already knew that he had his eye on the place. Was anyone hurt or killed?"

Percy shook his head.

"The Department of Mysteries has been on alert all year and the Unspeakables cleared out of his way. There were quite a number of other people Imperiused, possibly for months. They're doing damage control at the moment, cleaning up the mess he made on his way in. He left a few problems behind him to distract the aurors, like Fiendfyre in the Atrium. There were some treatable burns and a witch from the Obliviator Squad got poisoned by something he flooded her floor with, but she's expected to make a full recovery. Property damage is pretty high and we're going to have to evacuate the Ministry building itself for a while, but we don't think there were any casualties."

"Casualties can refer to injuries as well as deaths," I corrected as I sat down with my usual bowl of porridge. "How's Fudge spinning it?"

"The Minister plans to make a broadcast later about how He Who Must Not Be Named was foiled in his attempts to take over the Ministry," Percy said, uncharacteristically rolling his eyes at my pedantism.

"Not a bad story," I mused in between spoonfuls. "It's hard to disprove and it's not like Voldemort can come out and say that he was actually failing to steal something else entirely."

"Failing?" Remus said, gaze snapping up. "What do you mean, he failed?"

I paused and reviewed who knew what. While the Order as a whole knew that Voldemort was interested in the Prophecy, only a select few of us knew that the Prophecy had been sabotaged. It was to increase the chances of the trap being successful but evidently, I was the only person in the room who was in on it.

"Albus replaced it with a cursed dummy a while back," I said. "Forgot that he hadn't told ye. Doesn't matter now, anyway."

"I suppose not," Remus said, shaking his head. "So many secrets must get confusing after a while."

I finished my breakfast and waited to see if Albus had any instructions in the wake of the latest development. Instead, I received a call informing me that a package had arrived from Gringotts.

—tN—tN—tN—

The Ring was cracked. The Diadem was broken in two. The Cup leaking. The Locket pierced. The Diary shredded. And after months of covert research, we were now certain. Harry Potter's soul was once more his and his alone. All that remained now was the snake.

Oh, and Nagini. Couldn't forget her.

The problem that remained was that for all that Riddle had his blindspots and flaws, he was not stupid. And even without his immortality, he was still a stupendously powerful wizard. I'd persuaded Albus to spar with me a few times and, knowing that Riddle was on the same level, I doubted I would survive even a full minute by myself. The death toll from the battle at Hogsmeade was proof of Riddle's skill and power.

To kill the Dark Lord... We would have to resort to trickery.

Riddle was powerful and intelligent, he would not be fooled easily. But what blindspots he did have were crippling if exploited. Chief among them was his belief that nobody knew of his Horcruxes. After that was the terrible fear that would strike him if he ever thought someone had stumbled upon his secret. Riddle was at his most vulnerable when he was panicked and forced to act rashly.

Before the destruction of Ravenclaw's Diadem, we had taken many photographs and measurements. These data, along with a substantial amount of gold and assurances that the product would be returned following a single task, was sent to the goblins. Experts in crafting magical items, the goblins created a reasonable facsimile of the Diadem in short order. Albus and I had put our heads together to bewitch the resulting fake with a careful selection of spells that would protect it against destruction. Reluctantly, we'd also enchanted it with a Dark spell plucked from Albus's collection of confiscated tomes that would attack anyone who attempted to wear it. A nasty, subtle, curse that would steal their sight and slow their senses.

The result was a diadem that a cursory examination would reveal was very heavily protected. A more thorough examination would reveal that it concealed a powerful piece of Dark magic. It would take quite a bit of examining to determine that it was not, in fact, a Horcrux, by which point Riddle would, hopefully, be weakened by the curse.

Hogwarts was a castle filled with many students and staff. Exploring its secrets was one of the population's favourite collective pastimes. That someone would stumble upon the Room of Requirement and recognise the Diadem was more than plausible. And so, when news broke that a long-lost treasure of the founders had been unearthed and was being sent to a secure location for examination and authentication, people were excited but far from suspicious. Said secure location was a closely-guarded secret, of course. It was kept only to a select few officials and recorded only in a high-clearance location in the Ministry. Not even Snape was informed of it.

Naturally, Riddle would eventually be able to get his hands on the information, one way or another. When he did, he'd come after the Diadem, likely alone.

From the point of view of the Death Eaters or the public, it'd be Riddle flaunting his abilities by stealing one of the nation's most valued treasures and adding its power to his own. It wasn't a perfect plan. Riddle could smell a trap, or react in a way we hadn't counted on. We couldn't control when he'd receive the information either, in case he realised he was being led.

All we could do was prime the trap, set the bait, and wait.

—tN—tN—tN—

There was an explosion in Diagon Alley. Someone had unleashed a deadly poison in St Mungo's. The Dementors of Azkaban had finally revolted and attacked the mainland. And Riddle was nowhere to be seen.

Dumbledore had taken off for the Diadem with Shacklebolt and Moody in tow. I thought they'd be joined by one or two others on the way. Their job would be to ambush Voldemort after he'd been weakened by the Diadem and put an end to him once and for all. Of course, that would be a moot point if Nagini wasn't there. Albus and I agreed that Riddle would keep his latest lifeline close if he felt the rest might be in danger but we couldn't be certain. If Riddle came completely unaccompanied then they'd have to attempt to restrain Riddle instead, or else cripple him in some manner. Either way, a much riskier proposition.

I had nothing to do with that part of the plan, however. My job was to deal with the Dementors.

The portkey Albus had given me before leaving dropped me on a clifftop overlooking the North Sea, at the point nearest the prison itself. The moment I landed—after I regained my balance—I cast a patronus. My glowing cat rubbed against my legs and dispelled the chill that had ensnared me on arrival.

The scary part was that there were no Dementors in sight. The water had chunks of ice floating in it and around me plants showed signs of having been through a harsh winter, even as far as I was from the nearest of the foul beings. I brought some more happy memories—of the kindness of Frank and Henry—to the fore of my mind and my patronus glowed a little brighter.

A powerful patronus could drive away even large numbers of Dementors. I had my doubts that mine could be effective against more than a handful. It didn't matter. If I had my theories straight, the presence of a Patronus would draw the attention of any Dementors in the area. Bolstered by massive numbers, they'd gather to crush the potential threat in their midst.

A minute later, the first cloaked figure glided into sight. My cat arched its back and faced it, stopping the Dementor in its tracks. It waited there, about ten metres away, not moving to attack or flee. It was soon joined by a second, then a third, then by countless others.

Visiting the Burrow, practicing with Bill and Charlie, opening my shop, flying on my own wings for the first time, striking up a friendship with my neighbours, laughing with Sirius... I'd dug out my photo album before taking the portkey and made sure each moment of happiness was as fresh and sharp as I could make them. My patronus shined ever brighter as the hordes of despair gathered, encroaching on my little spot of light bit by bit.

My cat wrapped itself around me, snapping at any Dementor that drew near. And they did draw near, closer and closer. I reached into my pocket with a shaking hand. I'd made a terrible mistake. I thought I knew how to deal with the Dementors, had run the plan by Albus months ago and I was wrong, so wrong. Albus was a fool. There was no way that Riddle would fall for such an obvious ploy. They were walking straight into a trap, straight to their own deaths.

I wasn't smart. I was a fool farther from home than anyone could possibly understand. I knew the stakes in this battle and had thrown myself into the war without any care for my own safety. I was alone, utterly alone. And I'd lose my soul where I stood, without a friend by my side, nobody for me to hide behind. I'd all-but-die and accomplish nothing more than giving the Dementor's a tasty snack and leaving another corpse that refuses to live or die on this shore. There were people counting on me and I'd fail them. I'd fail myself.

A Dementor reached out and nearly brushed my arm before recoiling from my cat's attention. I'd waited as long as I could. Any longer and they'd have me.

The depression-inducing effect of Dementors was debilitating. It stole confidence and focus, robbing their victims of their ability to fight or escape. Why bother doing anything when there was no point to any of it, right?

But I was used to doing pointless things. So nothing stopped me from drawing a wrapped object from my pocket. Nothing stopped me from turning it three times.

Nothing stopped Voldemort's victims from rising, emerging into the space between me and my attackers and driving them back.

James and Lily Potter and the people who died in Hogsmeade were the only ones I recognised and they were soon swallowed by an ever-growing army of not-ghosts. Regaining my wits, I tried to direct the dead to herd the Dementors instead of just driving them back but they were already moving, diving among the black-cloaked crowd and surrounding the Dementors in small groups. My cat brushed against my leg before bounding off to intercept a Dementor that tried to break away from the group.

The cloud that hung on my thoughts receded enough for me to pull out one of the chocolate bars I'd brought with me and take a bite. The chocolate was near-frozen and chewing hurt my teeth. I did so anyway, forcing the squares down one after the other until I could think clearly again.

It appeared that I had hypothesised correctly. In the original timeline, Harry was protected from the Dementors by the presence of his parents, Sirius, and Remus. In short, the spirits summoned by the Resurrection Stone could fight against the Dementors on some level.

I doubted that they would be able to drive off the horrors to the same extent that a patronus would but I'd hoped that it would be enough. It was just as well that I was right. I didn't really have any kind of backup plan beyond 'throw the cat at them and run', which only helped me.

"You survived after all." I jumped at the voice and blanched when I saw who spoke. It was the wizard who took a Killing Curse for me in Hogsmeade. I... I hadn't remembered to find out his name, even after what he did. I swallowed and he sighed. "Don't be like that. You're a damn civilian for Merlin's sake. You should never have been there but you were and people would have died if you hadn't been. I knew the risks going in and don't regret the choice I made, alright? Just... Move on. Any guilt weighing on you? Forget it. The idea of it offends me."

"I-I thought that spirits summoned with the Resurrection Stone tried to tempt those who called them to join them in death? Isn't this kind of the opposite of that?" I managed, stuttering and filing away what the dead wizard said for consideration later.

"Usually, yeah. But this isn't usually. When most people pick up the Stone, death already weighs upon them. Grief, guilt, you name it. They want to ask the questions they didn't have a chance to while alive, to beg for forgiveness one last time, to scream and shout at someone gone beyond the reach of their vengeance. You... You didn't. You called us here with only the intention of protecting others. You aren't haunted by death, literally or metaphorically. I'm the closest you have to a regret but I wasn't even on your mind when you called us."

"So... That's the secret to using the Resurrection Stone?" I asked, looking down at the bundle clenched in my hand, now stained with chocolate. "To be able to call on the dead without wanting to actually call them... Or something. I think I get the idea. It's a bit like the trick Albus pulled with the Mirror of Erised back then..."

"And that brings me to another thing..." The nameless wizard trailed off, hollow eyes turning far-away. The Dementors were being herded away now, heading back out to sea instead of travelling inland. "You do belong here. I just want you to know that. You may have lived somewhere else before, but you were born here. And when you die, your soul will join us. Unless you do something utterly stupid in the meantime."

I was pretty sure my jaw was hanging open and the dead man smirked.

"There'd be a lot more of us without your influence. So, I thought you were owed at least this much. You belong. You don't have to worry about having everything snatched away from you if you look away for even a second. Remember that."

He walked away and joined his fellows in driving the Dementors ever-further out to sea. I let them go, kept company only by my patronus. Soon, it too faded.

I sat on that clifftop for a long time. The clouds drifted by overhead and the cold was blown away by nature's own breath, cleansing the space one gust at a time. The sun was sinking before I moved. And even that was only when prompted by the arrival of a brilliant silver phoenix.

"Poe, we have received information that the majority of the Dementors have vanished but you haven't answered my attempts to call. Please respond if you are able. If not then I will be there in a few minutes." Dumbledore's voice, incongruous when coming from the beak of a bird, paused before continuing. "And I thought you may want to know... It's over. Tom is dead for good and the aurors have moved in on most of the leaders among the Death Eaters. We will still have to deal with the remainder, but the war is over. Thank you. Join us at Grimmauld Place when you can. I understand that Molly is preparing quite a feast."

The patronus faded, and with it, I realised how dark it had gotten, how long I'd sat there. I checked one of my pockets and discovered that my lighter was indeed glowing a faint red, a sign of missed calls. I hadn't noticed it at all. I raised my wand and sent my own Patronus to Albus, wherever he was. While he had invited me to join 'us' at Grimmauld Place, the headmaster himself was likely tied up with the politics and such of the aftermath.

I Disapparated, willing myself into the sky above Grimmauld Place and falling towards the ground. In midair, the freefall became a dive controlled by well-tuned feathers and I swooped neatly to a stop over the front step, shifting back just in time for my foot to hit the mat, and my knuckles the door. Such coordination was usually beyond me, but I was buoyant all of a sudden, a goofy grin breaking out no matter how hard I tried to stop it.

The door opened and I was welcomed into the party. Molly's cooking was, as ever, delicious.

Somewhere else, a silvery cat would stretch out before the Headmaster and speak to him as I'd dictated it to.

"Dear Albus. My apologies for not responding to your attempts to contact me. My mind was elsewhere. The gambit was successful and I came into possession of an unexpected and entirely welcome piece of information of immense importance to me. I will speak on it at a later date. I'm glad to hear you were successful. I look forward to hearing the details when next we meet, my friend."


	23. Chapter 23 (Epilogue)

**Chapter 23 (** **Epilogue** **)**

"They really did a number on your shop, didn't they, Poe?" If the second war had taken a toll on Frank, he didn't show it. His green robes were as clean and neat as ever, as welcome a sight as the brown paper bag in his proffered right hand.

"Not really," I said, accepting the bag and pulling out a freshly baked blueberry muffin. "It looks bad, but they didn't stick around to make sure the fire caught properly. I've lost stock, but I can always get more of that. How've you and Henry been doing?"

"We've been keeping well enough, given the circumstances." Frank shrugged. "We spent more time doing the rounds of the Alley than manning the café, to be honest. I'm afraid that being beside an establishment as... Marred as yours, isn't good for business."

"Sorry, about that. Here, I'll clean it right up."

The front of Number 14 was scorched and blackened. The window was intact, but opaque with soot. The door hung open and the walls were charred. The interior was broken, a few bludgers still circling around and stirring up the ashes on occasion. With a snap of my wand, the stain melted off the window. A similar flick restored the paintwork on the wall. Stepping inside, I made my way to the centre of the shop floor and waved my wand in a complete circle.

The broken tables got back to their feet, the walls dusted themselves off and donned their posters again and the still-functional guardians returned to their resting posts. The soot and ashes gathered itself into one tidy pile, which I promptly vanished. Another quick charm—one Molly had taught me on request—filled the room with a gentle floral scent. I walked back out again, the door shutting behind me with its usual chimes.

"Turns out the fire didn't make its way into the backroom or upstairs after all," I told Frank, who'd stood back and watched while I worked. "So there isn't even as much lost as I'd thought. The Death Eaters didn't do a very thorough job."

"I don't doubt that." Henry's voice sounded out behind me. I turned to greet the other owner of the café, declining to shake his hand on account of the flour still caking it. "You shoulda seen them that night. We were woken up by the noise and peaked out to watch. Two of them came staggering out of the shop, pulling the rest after 'em. Eight of them in all, I reckon. Then the ones still awake argued for a moment and started shooting a bunch of fire through the doorway. Once smoke started coming out, they woke up the rest and Apparated out in groups of two. You'd swear they lost a fight with a troll, not whatever trinkets you got in there."

"Trinkets? I feel like I should be offended." But I was smiling. The easy banter with my neighbours was something I'd missed.

"So, now that you've got the shop all fixed up, are you gonna move back in?" Henry asked. "I'd appreciate it if you opened up shop again, to be honest. We did a steady trade after that mess in Hogsmeade, all thanks to you."

"I'm definitely going to open up the shop again," I said. "I might end up getting someone else to run it though. During the war, you see, I kinda accidentally wrote a collection of Defence guides and textbooks and that particular product line is looking more profitable than games. I think Albus has something he'd like me to do as well. Besides, I did say I wanted to travel. Running the shop would get a bit dull after a while."

"Well, so long as you deliver us some customers with that success of yours, I suppose we can still dump some of Henry's mistakes on you every once in a while," Frank joked. "Come on in and talk to us for a bit. Tell us some of what you've been up to for the past half a year. And don't try and tell us that you were just holed up safe and sound somewhere the whole time. You're on first name terms with Dumbledore, there's no way you weren't working on something for him."

"A lot of it's still supposed to be secret," I said. "But I can give you a few tales, I suppose. Only on the condition that I am provided with triple-chocolate chip cookies, however."

"I can have a batch in the oven in five minutes," Henry promised me. "Now get in here and start yapping."

I followed them into the quiet café and regaled them with stories for the afternoon.

I liked it. I'd missed it.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Good evening, Albus. How are you?"

The two of us were meeting in the headmaster's office once more, this time with far less hanging over our heads.

"I'm am quite well, thank you. I gather you're in good health and spirits also?"

"As right as rain." There was an awkward pause while Albus's teapot poured us each a cup. I picked up my cup and opened the first topic of conversation.

"So, what actually happened with the Fake Diadem? I know ye were able to kill Nagini and Riddle, but I've not heard the details. I did hear from Sirius that Harry had managed to tag along somehow, but nothing beyond that."

"I must admit that what transpired took me quite off guard as well," Albus admitted, tapping one finger against the side of his cup as he gazed out the window. "I called Alastor and Kingsley to me and left with them to lie in wait for Tom's arrival. I left a portkey behind in my office for Remus, Hestia, Sturgis and Sirius to take when they arrived. Once they had answered my call and gathered by the Portkey, they had attracted an unknown guest. Harry, with his broomstick and that marvellous cloak, had noticed the commotion and tailed one of them into my office. When the Portkey took them away, Harry was brought along. Although, we didn't realise that for quite some time.

"We established a covert perimeter around the Diadem's location, on the lookout for Tom. Before long, he was there, his snake wrapped around his neck. We waited until he had passed us and was examining the forgery before attacking. By good fortune, Nagini was thrown free in the first wave of spells, though Tom was able to throw off the rest with ease. His snake, the last remaining Horcrux, was beyond his reach, beyond his ability to protect. While he was occupied fending off myself, Nagini was slain by Sirius and Remus working in concert.

"By that point, Tom's worst fears had been realised. By targeting his snake so, we had uncovered our knowledge of his weakness, confirmed the suspicions the Diadem's discovery must have aroused. I believe he attempted to flee at first but was contained by the room's enchantments. Left with no other choice but to strike out, he did so quite viciously. I must admit that I was hard-pressed to fend off his ferocity. In retrospect, electing to bring along so many others of lesser ability to defend themselves than I may have been a slight error.

"Tom was able to break free of us and make his way outside. His ability to Apparate still stymied, he took to the skies and rained curses down upon us. At that point, Harry made his presence known. He must have been hovering outside already, unable to get through the doors without being noticed. Coming at Tom from behind, he grabbed him by the neck, shouting all the while. As you suspected, Tom had lost his protection from Lily's love with the shedding of his second body. He burned, crashing down to earth and dragging Harry with him. Harry, for his part, refused to let go, grabbing at every part of Voldemort that he could.

"He screamed in so much pain, I could have pitied him. Tom did, that is. We pulled Harry off him by force, but the damage was done. Tom's body, born of and sustained by so many dark magics, was crumbling, melting, before us. His eyes were burnt and clouded but still, he gave one last hateful glare before breathing his very last."

Silence rained for a few moments as I digested the tale.

"I must admit I am intrigued," I ventured, "by the nature of Prophecy. If you had asked me before, I would have said that Prophecy is predictive, nothing more than an obscure interpretation of events yet to pass. But what you described... The series of coincidences needed to bring about Riddle's doom at Harry's hands, regardless of my meddling... It suggests that Prophecy is in some way prescriptive. That it shapes events to bring about the described future."

"It could also be argued that the personalities involved played a more vital role," Albus countered. "The fact of the matter is that Harry was quite determined to see his parents' murderer brought down. He knew that we had a plan of some sort to deal with Tom and did not appreciate the level of secrecy perpetrated against him.

"He is not an unintelligent boy, and I rather fancy that he had taken to observing the movements of certain individuals within the castle. When he saw myself, Alastor and Kingsley gather and then depart with such haste, only to see other Order members familiar to him converge on the same place, he would have taken it upon himself to get there also and observe what was to happen.

"Armed with a broomstick, he would have reached my office in time to recognise the portkey and come along. Stymied upon arrival, unable to follow or leave, he simply waited his chance. The only surprise that remains is how he restrained himself from attacking Voldemort on arrival."

"Your explanation does not preclude mine, but I take your point," I said. "I don't particularly like the vision of fate as a fixed path dictated for us, after all."

Unspoken was a far more probable explanation, to my mind. One that involved an old man reluctant to leave anything to chance. Such a contrivance as what Albus had described... If he hadn't had a hand in crafting it, then I'd sell the rights to my biography to Rita Skeeter.

Albus would not admit to it, I knew. Not yet. It was a matter to be pursued at another time.

"Indeed." We sipped our tea in quiet. This time it was Albus who broke the quiet.

"With the threat of Tom dealt with, we can finally turn to more mundane matters. For example, I have been in contact with Madame Maxime and Durmstrang's new headmaster and they have agreed to work towards reinstating the Triwizard tournament—with restrictions—next year."

"That could be entertaining," I said, smiling. "I do hope I'll be allowed to spectate."

"And that brings me nicely to my true intention in asking you here today." Albus smiled and peered at me over his spectacles. "You see, Alastor has insisted on returning to his retirement at the end of this year, and I'm having difficulty finding an adequate replacement. Given the post's reputation, many of those qualified to do so are understandably nervous about the proposition."

"And you want me to take the job?" I said, my face as deadpan as I could make it. Inside, I was torn between crying and laughing at the idea.

"To be precise, I would like to offer you a two-year contract in the position," Albus said, leaning forward. "Before you object, your practical skills and theoretical knowledge will be wholly sufficient for the job. While it is true that more 'field experience' is preferable, I am quite confident in your abilities."

"My competence, or lack thereof, isn't my main objection, Albus," I said, shaking my head and dislodging the thoughts of just moments prior. "The problem lies in it keeping me in Hogwarts. I love this place, I truly do, but I don't want to be reliant on it, stuck here and unable to make my own way. That's why I'm looking to go travelling soon, with someone else minding my shop. There are so many wonderful places in the world, so much magic to see. As amazing as Hogwarts is, my horizons will only shrink if I remain here."

"A compromise, then?" Albus offered, setting down his empty cup. "An initial teaching period of two years is necessary to prove that the curse has been broken. After that, however, I have an idea in which both our goals can be satisfied. As you are aware, there are a number of other magical schools spread across the globe. The relationships between us have become rather fraught over time and I wish to change that.

"If it meets your approval, I would propose to them an exchange program of sorts. Magic and how it is used varies so wildly from place to place that a look into the ways of other nations would be most educational to many students.

"As such, once two years have passed, you would travel to Ilvermorny, or perhaps Beauxbatons. Maybe even to the Mountains of the Moon. There you would teach them what you know, share some of your considerable knowledge of defensive magic and techniques, and in turn, they would send an instructor here to share their ways. And in the process, you would have the opportunity to experience the myriad cultures of the magical world. It would take many years, of course, but the opportunities are immense, wouldn't you agree?"

I considered silently. Albus was manipulating me, in a way. I wasn't sure he was even fully aware that he was doing it. But he was also right. It was a great opportunity. It wouldn't completely solve my problems, but nothing would. I'd never travelled so far before by myself... But then, I'd been planning to do so anyway. And this way, I would have access to the knowledge of other countries, to their libraries and experts.

"I'm not good with languages," I said. "Or with dealing with new people. But I suppose I'll learn. There are logistics that we'll have to work out, but you can consider your empty Defence post filled."

Our cups clinked together, sealing the deal.

I may live to regret it, but first I'd live.

—tN—tN—tN—

"You're leaving today?" Sirius asked over breakfast. "Shame, I was just getting used to having someone else around the house."

"Sorry about that," I said. "I didn't want to impose and my flat is habitable, and secure, again. I'll probably have to explain how the security system works to whoever takes over my shop as well... I'll put it on the to-do list."

"No need to apologise, the war's over and we have our normal lives to get back to." Sirius swung back, balancing his chair on two legs, grinning.

"What about you? Weren't you still hunting Wormtail?" The chair hit the ground again.

"Yeah, but the rat is being slippery." Sirius scowled. "I will find him eventually, there are only so many places he can hide in civilisation. Even the Muggles wouldn't take him in, not as an unwashed, wild, rat. Well, he could live in the wild I suppose. Forcing him to live in the dirt for the rest of his life, without magic or comfort is quite a satisfying thought..."

"I should be travelling to Uagadou in a few years time. They specialise in self-transfiguration, amongst other things. I'll see what I can do about finding ways to track down sneaky Animagii and let you know."

"That would be appreciated, if I haven't found him by then. There is still a handful of senior Death Eaters running around, Crouch included though. Hopefully one of them will be able to give us a lead. At least Lucius got put away, they weren't going to fall for the Imperius defence twice! There is, however, a matter of more immediate concern."

"Oh?" I tilted my head slightly, affecting curiosity. I had a feeling Sirius had been trying to bring the subject around to something else and decided to give up on subtlety.

"Indeed. From today onwards, you will no longer be a guest of mine, thereby making this our last chance to settle which of us is better." Sirius swung himself to his feet and moved towards the door. "That indoor Quidditch pitch you made is pretty durable, right? We'll duel in there, where there's a bit of space."

"The enchantment at the edges will be disrupted by spell impacts, but the room itself is in no danger of collapsing unless you make a concerted effort to blow it up or something..."

Sirius had already left. I grinned and followed, taking a shortcut that he hadn't noticed I'd installed. I would miss my regular sparring with Sirius and would have to seek out someone else to practice against. Perhaps Flitwick would oblige.

I cast aside my thoughts and plans. I could worry about those after I won the duel.

—tN—tN—tN—

"Well, it isn't an unused classroom, we aren't huddled around an impromptu potions workbench, and we aren't dodging random hexes from one another but otherwise this is a real blast from the past."

Bill, Charlie, Percy and myself were relaxing outside the newly-reopened Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour. I'd completely forgotten that Florean had been killed by Death Eaters in the original timeline and was glad that had been avoided, somehow. Bill took another bite of ice-cream after his declaration and I couldn't help but agree. Our meetup felt much the same, in terms of emotions. To me, anyway. It was a meeting between friends in a familiar place. It felt safe.

"You forgot the bit where we've all got jobs and soon aren't all going to even be on the same continent with any regularity," Charlie quipped, grinning with chocolate-stained teeth.

"And I must congratulate you on attaining a post at Hogwarts, Poe," Percy added, ever the picture of politeness. "Hopefully you will last longer than your predecessors."

"And congratulations to you for getting promoted again, Percy," I said. "I heard that you replaced Umbridge as Senior Undersecretary?"

"Temporarily," Percy stressed. "Madam Umbridge has been temporarily relieved of her post following some irregularities discovered during an internal audit. I'm sure she'll be back in her office once they've been ironed out."

I privately doubted that she would. Moreover, his ties to Dumbledore were very much an asset in the present climate.

"The war was something else though," Charlie said, grin dropping. "I mean, I'm sure we're all seeing thestrals by this point." We all nodded, moods cooling as fast as our treats were melting. "We've all seen or heard some messed up stuff, and this was just over the course of a single year. Slightly less. And Dumbledore was on top of things almost the whole time, cutting Voldemort off at every turn. Imagine what it would have been like if he hadn't been stopped, if the war had gone on longer."

I didn't need to imagine. Rowling had done the job for me.

Charlie was right though. We'd won but at a cost. People had still died while the Death Eaters lurked in the shadows. They'd died when Crouch blew up Hogsmeade. They'd died when Voldemort set off as much trouble as he could while he went after the Diadem. Even though I'd driven off most of the Dementors—and the ones I did get had not been seen since—I hadn't caught them all. There were upwards of sixty souls that fell victim to the Dementor's Kiss. The only positive side to the tragedy was that Azkaban was finally free of Dementors, an opportunity that Amelia Bones had capitalised on to renovate the prison.

The cost was too high. I hadn't wanted anyone to die. I figured out pretty quickly that it wouldn't always be possible, that all I could do was try and minimise the death toll, end the war faster. The war was finished, but there was still Death Eaters loose. And Riddle had never resorted to such large-scale attacks in the original timeline. It felt like I'd only made things worse...

 _There'd_ _be a lot more of us without your influence. So, I thought you were owed at least this much. You belong. You don't have to worry about having everything snatched away from you if you look away for even a second. Remember that."_

A dead gaze and a post-mortem comfort. A reassurance that I'd made a difference, that I'd changed things for the better. It let me smile without having to lie too much.

Bill and Charlie pulled each other into a debate about whether dragons or curse-breaking was more dangerous. Percy looked on from one side, moderately disapproving. During Voldemort's last day, all three of them had responded to the various disasters. They'd saved lives and duelled against Death Eaters and each had been awarded Orders of Merlin, Second Class.

For stopping the Dementors, my Order of Merlin had been upgraded to First Class. It was just a piece of metal—one that I kept tied around my neck, lying directly against my skin—but it was physical proof that the still-anonymous dead wizard was being honest.

I ordered another round of ice-creams and made a note to arrange meetings like this more often.

—tN—tN—tN—

First-years were so small. I watched them file in through the open classroom door and shuffle around the room, deciding which desks to sit at. I was disillusioned thoroughly enough that I might as well have borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak. By the time the clock struck the time for class to start, all my students were seated and waiting for me to arrive, trading conversation as they did. I gathered from my own time as a student, as well as from other teachers' warnings, that a full and prompt class was a rarity to be savoured.

I strolled around the classroom, listening in on the conversations I passed.

"I heard that they duelled You Know Who by themselves and won..."

"...brother says that they were taught secret spells by Dumbledore himself."

"...over a thousand dementors—those are scary soul-sucking monsters—and they fought them all of at once!"

"...even Snape is afraid of them..."

Apparently, I'd acquired a bit of a reputation. Not entirely surprising, seeing as how I'd almost become a household name in short order through my games and books. At least I'd tempered my ego and greed enough to avoid assigning my own books as the class text. I finished my circuit of the room and stood at the head of the classroom. With a gesture, the door snapped shut. The students fell quiet and I dropped the Disillusionment.

Several of the first-years yelped and flinched away, particularly in the first row. One of the slower students shouted "Where did they come from?" a few seconds later.

"Welcome, first-years, to your Defence Against the Dark Arts class," I said, being careful to enunciate as clearly as possible. This apparently had the added effect of making what I said sound more sinister. "The purpose of this class will be to teach you to defend yourselves against assorted creatures, dangers and, if necessary, against other witches and wizards. Within these walls, you are relatively safe, provided you don't go looking for trouble. Going by the usual statistics, at least three of you will do so during your years here.

"Within this class, I will teach you the methods and techniques you can use to protect yourself, how to recognise what to do when you are in danger and give you some controlled practical experience of dealing with a hostile force." As I spoke, my words wrote themselves across the blackboard. I looked around the class and found I had their complete attention. I made another concerted effort not to baulk.

"To be clear, I cannot have people misbehaving in this class. Harmless pranks are a normal part of the Hogwarts experience—and mind I said 'harmless', so don't take that as permission to have free reign—but they are to be left at this classroom door. All grudges, rivalries and arguments are similarly to be forgotten inside this classroom. I will not risk anyone getting badly hurt because they were angry while I was teaching them a spell. That understood? Good.

"Now for the specific course. There will be two parts to your classes and two parts to your exams. A theory side and a practical side. For your theory, I would like you to take out your textbooks." I waited until the chorus of rustling and thumping noises subsided. "You should each have a copy of a book called _Tales from Darkness_. Inside there are twenty chapters. Ten are devoted to the story of an encounter with Dark magic or Dark creatures. Each of these has been carefully researched to be as accurate and detailed as possible. They are true stories. Each story has a corresponding chapter which analyses the spells and strategies used to fight the Dark magic or creature, and what the magic or creature was capable of.

"Over the course of the year, we will look at each of these. I expect you to read the stories in your own time and be ready to discuss what you've read when called on in class. After each story, I will assign an essay with the same topic: 'Discuss the events that happened in the story, with focus on the mistakes made by the storyteller, how you think they could have done better, and why'. If you want to get started on these essays ahead of time, you are welcome and encouraged to do so, just so long as you recognise that your knowledge and understanding will improve as the year goes on.

"The practical side will at first consist of me instructing you in basic spells. Once I feel you're capable enough, we'll move to practicing duelling amongst yourselves. In addition, I will be taking you to an obstacle course currently under construction elsewhere in the castle to test your ability to apply your knowledge to overcome obstacles. Finally, I have received permission from the headmaster to take you on four trips this year.

"One will be into Hogwarts' own Forbidden Forest. Another will be to the Ministry of Magic to meet with some aurors, who will be willing to answer your questions. The third will be to a cave system I know of in Ireland that is home to an interesting variety of magical creatures and phenomena. The final trip's destination is a secret that you will not find out until we're there. You will have assignments to complete for each of these trips and they will constitute a quarter of your final mark this year. Any questions?"

I could only assume that they had already heard from older students what Defence was usually like because they seemed unreasonably excited and started chatting amongst themselves. I indulged them for a moment before rapping my wand against my desk.

"Well, if you don't have any questions for me then I can start the class properly. Who can tell me how I arrived in this class? You, at the back."

All in all, I thought the class went well. It was nerve-wracking but exciting, enjoyable. I thought it was something I could get used to.

—tN—tN—tN—

The bed was small, my body smaller. The room was cramped and crowded, crushing in on me under the weight of the world I knew lay outside. The world was big, so big. I knew that now. I could remember realising it way back in the early years of my first childhood. I could remember lying awake into the small hours of the morning, terrified of how utterly small and inconsequential I was next to the vast emptiness and darkness of the universe.

What scared me now was not dark, not empty. Oh sure, Voldemort was both, but he wasn't what scared me the most. He was a symptom of something larger, the symptom of a world where anyone could hold the power of gods in a stick. A world into which I had just been invited.

My eyes forced themselves shut. I could still remember so much. So many details from reading and rereading, watching and rewatching, so many times. So many throwaway bits of trivia, a useful party trick in quizzes. Trivia that could destroy the world if they were to slip out. And I wasn't sure that was an exaggeration.

I was small, so small. I was weak. I was alone. I had nothing to my name.

Nothing but the school supplies Professor McGonagall had bought for me. Nothing but an acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I was small. I'd grow.

I was weak. I'd train and gain strength.

I was alone. I'd find allies.

I had nothing to my name. I'd write my name in the history books, inked with the blood that would not be shed.

My eyes stayed closed and the walls backed away, little by little. I could breathe.

And I smiled.

Because I was in a new world. A terrible, dangerous, world. A world of magic, where anything could become a reality, maybe.

A world where I felt I might belong.

The smile faded.

A world to which I didn't belong.

A world of dreams and nightmares, vanishing with the night.

I slept fitfully.

—tN—tN—tN—

For all that I'd explored the castle on many occasions, I'd never entered the staffroom before. I'd never really seen the point. I did so now and found much what I'd expected. A long, comfortably-appointed, room with a selection of tables and chairs to sit at or in. Nothing exciting.

The most interesting thing in the room was its sole other occupant, who started somewhat as I entered.

"Professor Trelawney," I said, dipping my head in greeting as I made my way over to the table she sat at, summoning a teapot and cup from a nearby stand. "May I sit with you for a moment?"

"Of course, of course, that is no bother dear, er..."

"Stevens. Poe Stevens. I'm afraid that we have not properly met before."

"Ah yes, Poe. The child that turns into a raven." The seer's eyes cleared somewhat as she finally placed me. I could sympathise with the feeling all too well. "Of course, ravens are quite important omens, are you aware?"

"If my memory serves correctly, they are often considered the harbingers of storms, the heralds of disaster," I said, pouring some tea into a cup. "They're associated with death, due to being scavengers, but also with trickery, cunning and a few other details that slip my mind at the moment. And of course, their guts can be used for augury. Please don't try to gut me."

"Of course not, my dear." Trelawney positively beamed. "I must say that it is rare to find one so entrenched in the mundanities of spellwork to take an interest in the more esoteric arts."

"Well," I said, "I thought that I should at least put some research into what ravens are associated with, seeing as they represent some part of my soul or personality. If that is how the Animagus process works, anyway. My research on the matter is maddeningly inconclusive. I have read up on cats as well, on account of my Patronus. That being said, I have a keen amateur interest in symbolism and themes."

"Indeed, indeed. It is such a pity that so few of your peers feel similarly." Trelawney paused. "But you are the Defence teacher, yes? Ah, I'd rather not be indelicate, but would you care to...?"

I downed my cup, leaving only the tea leaves in a sodden heap. I offered the cup to Professor Trelawney.

"And here I was wondering how to bring up the subject," I said, smiling. "I would be honoured if you would read my fortune. The reading of tea leaves is known as tessomancy, correct?"

"Yes, quite," Trelawney said, accepting my cup and peering into it. Her brow furrowed as she turned it slowly in her hands, lips moving soundlessly as she interpreted what lay within. "This is a curious cup. Firstly, the spiral, a sign of creativity and problem-solving. Secondly, the chain, signifying responsibility or a chain of events. Thirdly, the wheel, a sure sign of progress and unstoppable change. And lastly... The heart. The symbol which beckons to love and belonging." She looked up from my cup and scrutinised me closely. "This... This a lucky cup. I quite expected to see some form of tragedy which would take you from our midst, but no. You are destined to change things, to resolve problems and set the world in motion. And above all, you are fated to find satisfaction in doing so. Never have I seen such a cup that's so... 'Content' is not right. Language fails me, I need symbols..."

"I understand the gist of that which you refer to, Professor Trelawney. It refers to the fulfilment of working at a task that you know will never be done, but being at peace with that fact and taking joy in what you can achieve."

"Yes! Exactly that! And call me Sybill, dear, since we are fated to be colleagues for a time yet. Do you mind if I read your palm also? I'm curious to see if it tells a similar story."

She took my proffered palm and cooed over every slight ridge, pausing every now and then to comment on discrepancies that I attributed to my previous life.

"Do you believe in fate, in destiny, Poe?" Sybill had dropped my hand suddenly and was gazing at me once more but distant rather than focused. "Most of the other professors are blind and willfully ignorant. They disparage my art at worst, humour me at best. You are genuinely interested, seeking me out of your own free will. And yet I have never seen you in my classes."

"I believe that I lack the capacity to See, Sybill," I said, carefully. "But as for whether there is such a thing as fate... I am of mixed minds. I believe that there is a course dictated for us to flow towards, a destination that has already been decided. But I also think that, just maybe, if we push hard enough for long enough, that river might shift its course, taking a different route. Some of us can look ahead and see the obstacles and turns that approach, and speak with confidence what they might mean. But any of us can take our own will and take control of the currents, steering our way around those bends and obstacles. I'm probably straining the metaphor a bit, but does that make sense?"

"No, no that is quite coherent." Sybill seemed happy, in her own odd way. "A most insightful metaphor for one who claims to be blind. And now I must bid you a good day. My students await."

Sybill gave an awkward curtsy and left me alone in the staffroom. I sat back in my chair and stared into the fire.

I had approached the Seer in the hope that she might be able to shed a little light on what lay ahead now that I was—to torture my own metaphor futher—sailing blind. I received vague pronouncements with little in the way of details, which was more or less what I expected.

But I thought I was okay with that. As I said to Sybill, we all had our own power to shape our destiny. I no longer had a cheat sheet but in a way that was freeing. I wasn't bound by any obligations but my own will. The world was bigger than Rowling wrote.

I wasn't at an end. I had only finished the first chapter. The best parts awaited.

 **End of Book One**


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